The Art of Love and War
by iColor With Crayons
Summary: John is appointed as one of Washington's aides during the war. There, he meets a fellow aide - Hamilton. Unfortunately, John is not the only one charmed by Hamilton's charm and good looks. SUPER LAMS, some Hamgelica/Hamliza, moderate amounts of Hamilton/Washington (whatever that's called). I'm bad at summaries, but decent at writing fanfics, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Valley Forge, 1777. John Laurens had been assigned to Washington's camp. He'd been furious about the assignment at first; it had been yet another one of his father's ideas. Henry Laurens swore that working for Washington would jumpstart his career. John had a sneaking suspicion that the closer connection with Washington wouldn't hurt his father's career, either.

Washington hadn't been very impressed with him when he'd finally ridden into camp.

"Go to my quarters and find a desk in the study. It's the brick building near the barracks." Washington told him, not bothering to look away from the drilling platoon in front of them. An officer was pacing in front of them, screaming at the men.

"Yes, sir." John agreed stiffly.

John had started to turn around when Washington finally tore his eyes away from the drilling soldiers.

"Oh, and Colonel Laurens." He said. "Look for Hamilton. He'll get you set up."

John nodded and started for the building. He could not yet understand the gravity of Washington's command.

* * *

"Can I help you?" A short, handsome man demanded as John stepped into the foyer of the brick building near the barracks. He had jet black hair that was unkempt (a kind understatement), molten brown eyes, and a fierce scowl.

"Hello." John frowned at the sight of him. "I'm John Laurens. General Washington sent me here to begin my service as an aide. I am to ask for a Mr. Hamilton?"

_Please don't be Hamilton_, John thought. _Please do not let this man be Hamilton_.

"I'm Hamilton." The man who turned out to be Hamilton said. His scowl lightened somewhat, but he certainly did not smile. "The General told me to expect a fellow aide this afternoon. Do you have any military experience, Mr. Laurens?"

"Yes; my father -"

"Of course." Hamilton cut John off before he could fully explain himself. "I meant military experience beyond your father's. Ideally, military experience in positions that were not acquired for you by your father, as well."

John's face burned with embarrassment. Having a successful father had always impressed people. It had annoyed him privately, of course, but it had never caused a social blunder before. He found himself feeling rather foolish, for he could not think of a single position he had earned without his father's assistance.

"Who got you this position, then?" John asked, somewhat immaturely.

"I did." Hamilton replied stiffly. "General Washington approached me and asked me to serve as his aide after General Greene recommended me."

John clenched his jaw. He wished that he could vanish. He wished that he could return to the evening when he agreed to serve as General Washington's aide. It was not worth the esteem to converse with his insufferable aide.

"This desk is available." Hamilton continued as though he'd said nothing to cause injury. He waved in the direction of a shoddy desk in a darkened corner of the room. "Lieutenant Colonel Miller left last week."

"Left?" John echoed. "Was he promoted?"

Hamilton smiled grimly. It made him look insufferable and yet infuriatingly handsome.

"Hm." He said. "No."

"Okay." John murmured, mostly to himself. "Do you know where I'm supposed to sleep?"

Hamilton shrugged, returning to his own desk. It was a nicer desk. It was close to a window. The sunlight made his tanned skin glow. His posture was firm as he dropped into his chair. His chair was likely more comfortable than John's, too.

"I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Hamilton." John remarked dryly.

"There's work to be done on your desk." Hamilton seemed immune to shame. John envied him for it. "When you're finished with it, place it on my desk. I'll look over it before passing on to General Washington."

John rolled his eyes but sat down at the desk. He plucked the first piece of paperwork off of the pile. It was a list of items; presumably, items that the military required. There was a column beside the list which was blank. At the top, the word "cost" was scrawled across. John glanced up in Hamilton's direction, a question forming on his lips. It was too late, however. Hamilton was very obviously immersed in his work.

John let out a sigh and adjusted his posture before plucking a quill out of its inkpot and setting to work. Some of the items were easy; he'd just bought a horse and a few yards of cloth prior to arriving at Valley Forge. Other items, such as weaponry and food, John was less certain of. He considered the amount of money his father gave the servants when they went to the market for food, as well as the cost of a sword in the war climate. Surely, a bayonet couldn't be priced so differently from a half-decent saber.

It took him about an hour to scrawl an estimate price of all of the items on the list. When he had completed the column and totaled the numbers, he rose to his feet and placed the paper on Hamilton's desk. Hamilton didn't even look up. John couldn't resist glancing at what he was working on. He was writing a letter, it seemed, though John could not distinguish words from the man's chaotic handwriting. There were numbers and a graph.

It wouldn't do to stand around, observing Hamilton work, though. If Hamilton didn't scold him for his idleness, the General might. John turned and began walking back to his desk.

"Thank you." Hamilton said, so succinctly that John might have missed it.

John turned around to look at him. Hamilton hadn't looked up from whatever it was that he was writing. John wondered if he'd misheard the man. He shrugged to himself, then turned and approached his desk again. He plopped into the chair again.

* * *

The two men worked in silence for nearly six hours before the door to the quarters opened. John glanced in the direction of the door. When he recognized Washington's imposing figure in the doorway, he leapt to his feet quickly enough to bump his knee on his desk. He winced, but bowed towards Washington in a gesture of respect.

"Your Excellency." He said.

Washington nodded toward John before looking at Hamilton. To John's immense surprise, Hamilton hadn't risen to his feet at all. He was still writing, his brows knit together in concentration. John cleared his throat, hoping to catch Hamilton's attention before Washington grew too angry. The General's temper was rather notorious around patriot and royalist social circles alike. Hamilton was unpleasant, sure, but John did not want to see the man endure Washington's wrath.

Hamilton still didn't look up. Washington approached the desk, standing right in front of Hamilton. His body blocked John's view of the man. Hamilton didn't seem to notice. John could hear the tip of his quill scratching away at the parchment on his desk.

"Hamilton." Washington finally addressed the man.

To John's immense surprise, there was no anger in the low timber of the General's voice. It sounded almost like Washington was amused by Hamilton's impertinence. John craned his neck, trying to see how Hamilton would respond to the address.

"Oh." Hamilton did not sound troubled to be caught not paying attention to the General's presence. "Hello, sir."

"Everyone has eaten dinner." Washington spoke as though Hamilton were his equal, if not his friend. The tone of affection did not leave his voice. John frowned and continued to try to catch a glimpse of Hamilton's face. "You were supposed to stop working two hours ago. Did you not notice the sun going down?"

Washington gestured towards a darkened window with one of his massive hands. The movement allowed John to see catch just the briefest glimpse of Hamilton. The man turned his head to follow Washington's gesture, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Oh." Hamilton said as Washington's arm dropped to his side. "I suppose I should light a candle or two. I didn't realize how dim it was getting."

"No, Hamilton. Work is done for the day." Washington insisted. He glanced over his shoulder in John's direction. John straightened his posture and tried to make his expression neutral. "I'm sure that Colonel Laurens would like to eat dinner and go to sleep before tomorrow begins."

"Mr. Laurens is welcome to do as he pleases." Hamilton replied dismissively. "I'm not finished with my work."

Washington let out a heavy sigh. His eyes remained trained on John. John couldn't help but wonder what it was that he was witnessing. This was General Washington, the most powerful man in the colonies. Had he been speaking to most men, he would only have to give a command and expect to be obeyed. Yet here he was, bickering with a low-ranking man over dinner times and work hours.

"Colonel Laurens, would you excuse us?" Washington asked.

"Yes, Your Excellency." John agreed immediately.

As he vacated his desk, he saw Hamilton's expression change from one of confusion to one of dread. John wondered if Washington was waiting for John to leave before unleashing his wrath. John couldn't help but feel relieved that he would not have to witness it firsthand.

Once out of the quarters, John approached a group of men sitting around a fire. They all regarded him curiously. John couldn't bring himself to blame them; he didn't have the dirt-smudged face or tattered clothes that most of the soldiers had.

"Hello." He said, forcing a smile. "I'm John Laurens, General Washington's new aide. Do you know where I might find my quarters?"

"No." One of the men said. "That's Hammie's job. Why don't you ask him?"

"I just…" John looked over his shoulder in the direction of Washington's quarters. He did not want to go back into the building, especially when he wasn't certain that Washington was through with reprimanding Hamilton. "I...thank you. Do you know where I can find something to eat before I speak with Mr. Hamilton?"

The second man snorted. "No. Usually the new men bring food with 'em. It's better'n anything you'll find here. Unless you like horse meat, a'course."

"Horse meat?" John echoed incredulously. He looked around, hoping to catch sight of his own horse.

"Go on home, m'lord." The second man taunted. "You won't find any delicacies here."

John wondered if he outranked this man. It was difficult to tell with his tattered clothes which loosely resembled a uniform. He didn't have any medals, nor did he have any of the markings of an officer. Still, John did not want to risk all of the men disliking him on his first night at camp.

"Good night." He said, nodding to the men stiffly before quitting their presence.

He glanced again in the direction of Washington's quarters. He had not seen either Hamilton or Washington leave the quarters.

"Excuse me." A tall man with a distinct French accent approached John. "Did I hear zat you are ze General's new aide?"

This man was very clearly an officer. He was impeccably dressed, other than a spot of dirt on his otherwise shiny boots. His hair was pulled back tight in a glossy ponytail.

"Yes." John was relieved to be speaking with someone who appeared to be a part of his social class. "I'm John Laurens; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Ze pleasure is mine, _Monsier_ Laurens. I have had ze pleasure of meeting your father a few times, but never his son. I am Gilbert Lafayette." The frenchman bowed to an extremely courteous low.

"It is a relief to speak with someone such as yourself." John admitted, venturing a small smile. "I fear that I've felt as though my time here would be lacking in companionship until I made your acquaintance. Would you happen to know where I might sleep for the evening? I would ask Colonel Hamilton, but I fear he's being reprimanded by the General and I don't want to interrupt."

"Ah." Lafayette grinned knowingly. "Yes, you are wise to not get in between the General and 'amilton."

John cocked his head to the side. There was a playful element to his voice that John didn't wholeheartedly understand. There was a meaning behind his words which Lafayette did not seem willing to explain.

"You may stay in my quarters for the night." Lafayette said. "'amilton will assign your quarters tomorrow."

"Thank you." John replied, his smile turning a bit more genuine.

_Let him keep his secrets_, John thought. _Just as long as he helps me survive this war_.

* * *

**To those who recognize me as the delinquent writer with several unfinished stories - I know. I apologize and truly have every intention of finishing them...eventually. However, this story is the current object of my attention and, as I have already completed 20 chapters, I felt confident in presenting it and hoping that I would have it finished by winter, if not sooner.**

**Those who recognize me will ALSO recognize that I'm not shipping the same people in any of my stories. What can I say? I ship Hamilton with pretty much every character. I may as well write out what each of those scenarios would look like. If you're not a fan of Hamilton/Laurens with a tinge of Hamilton/Washington, now might be a good time to respectfully bow out.**

**To the rest of you - enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hamilton was hard at work when John set foot in the quarters. From the look of it, he'd been hard at work for _hours_. John frowned, disappointed. He had instructed one of the lower ranking men to wake him before dawn broke so that he might get to work before Hamilton. He would not admit to himself that he wanted to show off. He himself didn't know who he wanted to impress more: Washington, or Hamilton.

"Oh. You're here." Hamilton glanced up from his work as John entered the room.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't known that Hamilton was capable of observing anything beyond his work within the confines of the office. He certainly didn't seem worth observing in Hamilton's eyes.

"Yes." He said. He couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say.

"I read over the work that you did yesterday." Hamilton nodded towards a small stack of papers at the very edge of his desk before resuming his writing. "It was very well done. I turned it into the General without revision. That's the highest compliment I can give."

"Thank you." John replied curtly. He did not need this man to approve of his intellect. John knew that he was intelligent. All of his professors at university had told him that he was intelligent. He had held jobs before this one which had required a bit of thought.

"The last aide was an idiot." Hamilton continued as John sat down. "I had to fix everything he did before he could turn it into the General."

"Hmm." John said, mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

Hamilton was quiet for a moment. John could only hear the scratching of his quill against his parchment. John took his silence to mean their conversation had ended. John plucked a piece of paper from the growing stack on his desk and set to work.

"Oh." Hamilton said after a few moments of silent working. "I never did tell you where your quarters were last night, did I?"

"No." John responded. He did not volunteer the information that he had slept on a cot in Lafayette's own quarters. He did not want Hamilton to feel absolved of the guilt that he rightly should have felt.

John looked up from his work and saw that Hamilton was doing something that resembled _smiling_. His dark eyes shone against the candlelight. There was a dimple on his right cheek. John clenched his jaw, mentally retaliating against the involuntary shudder his heart gave in his chest.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I've been told I have a propensity to ignore things which are important to others because I deem them less important than my own work."

"Hmm." John responded with a slight nod.

He would not forgive Hamilton for his rude behavior the day before; not without a much better apology.

_Perhaps something to eat, too_, John thought as his stomach grumbled. He'd gone without dinner the previous night. Horse meat had not been particularly appealing to him.

"You'll be sleeping in my quarters. Or, _our_ quarters, I suppose. They're just a few paces away from the General's quarters. He prefers his aides be near, should he require our services after hours." Hamilton explained, his smile fading somewhat.

John found himself watching Hamilton's mouth move to form words. They moved quickly, as though the words had to be dumped out into the air or else perish on his lips.

_Perish on his lips_, John thought, very much against his will. _Now there's a thought_.

He shook his head, attempting to purge himself of any thoughts of Hamilton's lips.

Men had always been a difficult subject for John; he did not allow himself to think of any one man for too long. He knew all too well where such thoughts would lead him. He knew of the expectations that society had of him. He was to marry an eligible young woman. He was to have children with her. He was not, on no uncertain terms, to think about men romantically. He just wouldn't have the same enthusiasm for women as some of the other men that he knew, and that was fine.

"I'm sure that you aren't accustomed to sharing quarters with other men, but I assure you, I have a fastidious nature and am a quiet sleeper." Hamilton continued, the corners of his mouth tugging down into a frown.

"Sure." John nodded, also frowning.

He did not want to share quarters with Hamilton. He did not want to see Hamilton first thing in the morning, disheveled and pliant. He did not want to see Hamilton before bed, winding down and shedding his uniform. He did not want the closeness that came with cohabitation. He did not trust himself.

They worked quietly for a while. John didn't know how long, exactly. He tried to focus on the work in front of him. The meaning of the words escaped him. The importance of the work eluded him. John found himself sneaking glances in Hamilton's direction. A few strands of hair had fallen from his ponytail and were hanging over his eyes. He didn't seem to notice. He was glaring down at the parchment in front of him, gripping his quill tightly enough to make John worry that he would break it.

The silence was interrupted when John's stomach growled loudly enough to distract Hamilton. Hamilton looked up, then looked around the room for the source of the sound. John's face reddened in embarrassment. When Hamilton's eyes fell upon him, he must have recognized John's obvious embarrassment. He cracked a sympathetic smile.

"Did you eat dinner last night, Mr. Laurens?" He inquired.

"I did not." John admitted. "The prospects were not very appetizing."

"Horse meat again?" Hamilton asked.

"Is it a common meal here?" John wondered, his tone shifting from one of polite conversation to one of genuine entertainment. His mouth curved into a smile without him realizing it.

"Unfortunately." Hamilton replied with a grim smile that wasn't unfriendly. John couldn't help but notice how much that man's eyes sparkled. "But it's mostly the foot soldiers who eat the horse meat. There are still a few decent options for officers. I'm sure with your name, the General would grant you leave to enjoy a nice supper."

John shook his head. "I don't want to be treated any differently than the rest of the men."

Hamilton looked at John for a minute. John couldn't help but fidget under his scrutinizing gaze. He dropped his eyes down to his desk. He could not bear to look Hamilton in the eyes for much longer.

"I have some food in my quarters." Hamilton said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "_Our_ quarters, rather. It isn't much; only what I can accumulate when the General sends me to town to collect horses and weapons. I was last in town two days ago and accumulated a fair portion of bread, cheese, and apples. It's going to go bad soon, anyway."

"How do you get the food?" John asked suspiciously. He did not want to eat food that was stolen from someone else's mouth.

Hamilton smiled bashfully. "There's a woman…"

"Ah." John didn't need to hear any further. "Yeah, okay."

"Yeah?" Hamilton's smile grew more genuine.

John nodded, swallowing hard.

At some level, he knew that Hamilton had to be popular with ladies. He was clever, charming, and handsome. It was only natural that he would enrapture every woman who crossed his path. He seemed like a normal man, so it was only natural that he would actually _enjoy_ such attention from those women.

Hamilton looked down at the work littering his desk for a moment, considering. After a few seconds, he nodded to himself. He looked up at John, his eyes shining like sunlight on the sea.

"Okay," He said. "I can spare a few minutes. I suppose I ought to show you where our quarters are, anyway."

"Thank you." John tried to smile.

Hamilton was being kind to him. John owed it to the man to be kind back. He was sharing a private stash of food which was infinitely preferable to horse meat. John could no longer hold a grudge against him for asking for his merits outside of his father's accomplishments.

Hamilton rose from his seat, as did John. They exited Washington's quarters together, walking past several groups of men going through military drills. Washington was observing the men. His gaze shifted from the men to Hamilton and John as they walked by. Hamilton didn't seem to notice. John wondered if they would get in trouble for leaving their post in the middle of the day.

"Are we permitted to leave our desks in the middle of the day?" John asked as they continued walking. He glanced over his shoulder at Washington. He was surprised to see that Washington's eyes had not yet left them.

"Huh?" Hamilton glanced over to John, then followed his eyes to Washington. He let out a dismissive huff of air and shrugged. "Oh. No, he couldn't mind, so long as the work gets accomplished."

"Okay…" John wasn't as certain as Hamilton sounded.

Washington was still watching them, looking as though he'd just eaten something sour. Lafayette, who appeared to be the commanding officer of one of the groups of men, was trying to recapture Washington's attention. It was not working.

"Here we are." Just a few paces from Washington's quarters was a smaller brick building. There was ivy growing up the sides towards the roof.

Hamilton swung the door open without unlocking the door. When he saw John's distrustful look at the action, he shrugged.

"There's always a guard near Washington's quarters." He explained. "No one is going to cause trouble in this area. Besides, if the British invade the camp, a lock is not going to stop them."

John could hardly argue with his logic.

"Here we are." Hamilton said, playfully acting as though they were entering a grand palace.

The space was anything _but_ grand. There were four cots laying near the floor. Three of them were covered in books, papers, broken quills, pots of ink, and rumpled stretches of fabric.

"I'm sorry about the mess." Hamilton hastened to clear one of the cots. "Once Lieutenant Colonel Miller left, I believed that the General would halt in his efforts to pair me with another aide."

"Pair you?" John echoed stupidly.

"He has philosophy that two men work more efficiently than one." Hamilton responded conversationally. "I have half a mind to object to his efforts, but perhaps if I can train another aide to do the job as well as I do, the General will finally promote me to an officer's position."

John frowned. He didn't know if Hamilton meant to tell him everything that he was saying. It seemed as though such a scheme would be best kept to oneself, especially since Hamilton was hoping to train John to remain behind while he got promoted.

"You want to be an officer?" John asked, hoping that the question would evoke an apology.

Hamilton looked back at John. He didn't look apologetic at all. The right side of his mouth curved into a grin. A dimple bloomed on his cheek.

"Of course I do." He said. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Gentlemen." Washington's booming voice caused both John and Hamilton to jump.

John whipped around and saw Washington standing behind him in the doorway to the quarters. He did not look any more pleased than he had when John had regarded him during their walk to the quarters. John snuck a glance in Hamilton's direction. Hamilton's smile had evaporated. Instead, he looked somewhat guilty. He straightened his posture and locked eyes with Washington. John turned to look at Washington again.

"General Washington." Hamilton spoke up, to John's immense relief. "I was showing Mr. Laurens our quarters."

"In the middle of the day, Colonel Hamilton?" Washington inquired, arching a cynical eyebrow.

"Yes, sir." Hamilton responded.

"You don't feel that your efforts during this time might be better used in my employ?" Washington persisted.

"No, sir." Hamilton replied. "I have worked for eight hours, as it is."

"Hamilton, it's two o'clock." Washington's tone shifted from one of anger to one of concern. "Do you mean to tell me that you left...you left _your_ bed and went straight to work this morning?"

"Yes, sir. That is usually how it works." Hamilton explained in a playful manner that John would have never dared use in the General's presence.

Washington's expression grew stern again. "Hamilton."

"Yes, sir?"

Washington paused for a second, just glaring at Hamilton. John wondered if he was going to strike Hamilton. John wondered if he ought to leave before he found himself in trouble, too.

Washington clenched his jaw and shook his head.

"Don't be too long." He said. He then turned on his heel and strode out of the quarters and through the lingering field out front.

As the door shut behind him, Hamilton dropped onto his hands and knees on the floor. John tried to look at anything but Hamilton as the man crawled under his desk.

"Here we go." Hamilton emerged from under the desk, triumphant. He was holding a sack with numerous bulges in it. Presumably, those bulges were food items. There could be apples in the bag. John's mouth watered at the thought.

Hamilton scooted onto his cot, then patted the space beside him. John sat down, staring at the sack hopefully.

"Here." Hamilton removed an apple - an _actual apple_ from the bag - and handed it over to John with no sign of resentment. John could hardly believe that he was sharing such a rare commodity. "You can have this. I'm tired of apples as of late. There's also bread and cheese. Eat as much as you like. I imagine the General will send me to town again fairly soon; we're nearly out of gunpowder."

Hamilton removed bread and cheese from the sack as well. The bread wasn't burnt. It yielded to his grasp; it wasn't yet stale. The cheese didn't have salt residue. It was fresh, too. John felt as though he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Thank you." He said, biting into the apple with the fervor of a starving man.

"You're welcome." Hamilton smiled, looking remarkably human for just the briefest of moments. "So, Mr. Laurens; how is it that you find yourself at Valley Forge with no resources of your own? I always assumed that men with fathers such as yours were always given a vast amount of resources to aid them in surviving better than the common man."

"I haven't seen my father in months." John professed. "The most he can grant me is a letter of introduction."

"Ah." Hamilton murmured, grabbing a flask off of his desk and offering it to John. It was full of water - _clean_ water. John took a small gulp, not wanting to rob Hamilton of all of his supply.

"I haven't seen my father since I was nine years old." Hamilton remarked after a few minutes of eating in silence.

John swallowed the massive bite he'd taken out of his apple, struggling to come up with the appropriate response. He didn't want to ask why it was that Hamilton had not seen his father in such a long time. It was possible that his father abandoned his family. It was possible that his father had died. It was possible that Hamilton had left home on his own and never looked back.

"I'm sorry." John felt suffocated by his own inadequacy.

Hamilton shook his head, chewing on a slice of bread he'd cut for himself.

"Don't be." He replied. "He was never going to grant me any advantage in this world, anyway. The only thing he gave me was his last name."

"Oh." John's face burned with embarrassment. This was not polite conversation.

"I know this is not polite conversation." It was as though Hamilton could read his mind. "It's just...we're going to be seeing a lot of one another. We're going to be sleeping together, working together, and fighting together. I don't want you think of me as another society gentleman. I want you to know that I am a very real person, with very real thoughts, dreams, and fears."

"I see." John could not hide his discomfort. Societal norms had always kept a comfortable buffer between him and other men. He was afraid that anything other than polite conversation might lead to improprieties.

Hamilton glanced at John. It was obvious that he noticed John's discomfort. His mouth turned into a straight line. His eyes shifted downwards and he nodded his head.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Laurens."

"No," John struggled against the urge to back out of the conversation because it was uncomfortable. "No, that's...that's all right. I, erm, I don't suppose I've ever had such an honest conversation before."

Hamilton smiled at him gratefully.

"I, um…" John had never been so inarticulate. "I hate my father."

Hamilton looked over at him curiously. "Really?"

"Yes." John had never told another living soul about his resentment towards his father. "Yes and no, I mean. It's just...he and I have very different understandings of the man I ought to become. He would like for me to be the face of the new country."

"What's wrong with that?" Hamilton inquired.

"I don't agree with the country he and the rest of Congress has dreamt up for us." John replied.

"You're not a loyalist." Hamilton wasn't asking.

"No." John agreed hastily. "No, of course not. There are just things I believe we ought to be changing along with the government and the tax structure. Slavery. Inequality between the wealthy and the poor…"

"Slavery is a plague of the nation." Hamilton agreed solemnly. "I cannot believe that a declaration was crafted declaring freedom while its authors continue to perpetuate slavery."

"You haven't even met Thomas Jefferson." John cracked a smile. "He's one of the worst of them."

"Does your father own slaves?" Hamilton offered John a piece of bread with a generous hunk of cheese on it.

"Yes." John admitted, accepting the bread and cheese. "Although, less than he once did. I've never told anybody this, but I've helped a number of them escape. If you bring them far enough North, to Canada, they cannot be recovered."

"Is that right?" Hamilton was smiling. John had told his second most damning secret, and Hamilton was _smiling_.

"It is."

"You know, a couple of the General's slaves have run off in the same fashion." Hamilton remarked. "Do you know anything about that?"

"No, of course not." John replied, his face burning.

He entertained the idea that Hamilton was a society gentleman, after all. It was entirely possible that he had only begun the conversation to find something to hold over John's head. It would be the easiest thing in the world to extort John in exchange for a secret kept. John could not imagine what his father might do if he found out where his slaves had been disappearing to.

Hamilton let out a laugh. It was not a devious laugh, but an almost childlike one. John's fears were dispelled the moment the sound hit his ears.

"I like you, John." He remarked, cutting another two slices of bread. "I didn't think I would, but I do."

"I like you too, Mr. Hamilton." John said, his face reddening.

He felt like a blushing girl, professing her love to some hopeful young man.

"Please," Hamilton said with a grin. "Call me Alex."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Did you hear the rumors that the British are moving south again?" John asked.

"No," Hamilton replied. He didn't seem too concerned about the piece of gossip. "And I see no point for them to move southward. All of the resources they could need are north, barring, perhaps, some agriculture."

"I wouldn't mind it if the General were to march us south." John professed.

Though he did not miss his dad or the polite society of South Carolina, he did miss the south. He missed the warm weather and the green scenery. Pennsylvania seemed to be one grey mass. It was always cold and damp and miserable.

"I'm sure you wouldn't." Hamilton agreed. "Though I myself profess no great interest in moving south."

"Have you ever been?" John inquired, glancing down at his work. He tried to focus but was immediately concerned with more questions. "You never told me where you're from, come to think of it. Where are you from, Alex? I assume not south."

Hamilton smiled a bit.

"No, I am not from the south. I, um, I'm not from these colonies, as it happens." He answered.

"Oh...you're from England?" John inquired, surprised.

"No." Hamilton shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "I'm actually from the colonies in the island. Erm, the Barbados sort of area."

"Oh." John immediately felt bad for asking.

The islands were where criminals were sent. Adulterers, debtors, murderers...sodomites. John couldn't help but look Hamilton in for a moment. He had never considered that Hamilton himself might be a sodomite. The idea likely would have repulsed another man, but it intrigued John. He didn't know what he would do if he found out that Hamilton was one. It wasn't as though he could risk his own reputation to experience a relationship with a man.

Hamilton cleared his throat. "I didn't do anything; I was just born there. My mother, ah, she moved there with her husband. They were going to start a farm there or something, I'm not sure. Anyway, her husband abandoned her, then she met my father, then my father abandoned her, and after she died, I figured there was no point in staying there."

"I'm sorry." John said. "I didn't mean to make you talk about it."

"It's alright. It wasn't a completely unpleasant childhood. I found a job which I enjoyed immensely. My brother and I would sometimes walk along the beach, too." Hamilton said, returning his attention to the work on his desk.

"You have a brother?" John felt as though he had infinite things to learn about Hamilton.

"I do." Hamilton smiled, but it was a sad smile. "His name is James."

"James Hamilton." John smiled, too. "Is he fighting in the war, too?"

"No, he's, ah, he's still on the island. We couldn't afford to both come to the colonies. I only got here because I had a benefactor who paid my way." Hamilton answered, his sad smile turning into a sad frown.

"I'm so sorry." John felt as though he couldn't say anything right. "Although...when you say _benefactor_…"

"I am not consigned to serfdom." Hamilton assured him. "My benefactor paid my way purely out of the goodness of his heart. No obligation."

"But he wasn't the General...was he?" John wondered.

He'd only grown more curious about the strange dynamic between Washington and Hamilton as the days went by. Washington seemed to be incapable of going more than a few hours without stopping by his quarters and speaking with Hamilton. He rarely spoke to John during these visits. Most evenings at dinner, Washington would request that Hamilton sit by his side so they might discuss financial matters, or his correspondence. It seemed to John, though, that they did much more laughing than they did working. Washington continuously told Hamilton that his wife would be staying at the camp in a month, in 29 days, in 28 days...it was beyond the sort of courtesy that two polite men would afford one another.

"No." Hamilton shook his head, the ghost of a smile haunting his face. "I didn't meet the General until I had been in the military for some time. It was, ah, a man I knew from my childhood who paid. He sent me here to get a higher education and move beyond the poverty of my parents."

"Did you go to college?" John could not bring himself to stop asking questions. He wanted to read Hamilton like a book. He wanted to know everything that there was to know about him. He wanted to keep learning snippets until he could draw out a timeline of Hamilton seamlessly; he wanted to know him better than anyone else knew him.

"I did." Hamilton didn't seem to mind the questions. He had returned to writing something on the parchment in front of him, but was speaking in a calm, deliberate tone. "I went to King's College. I tried to go to Princeton in the hopes of completing a two year program, but apparently, a man named James Madison completed such a program and had a nervous breakdown subsequently. They were not eager for a similar scandal to be on their hands."

"King's College is a good school. What did you study?" John tried to work while asking his questions, but he could not.

"Law." Hamilton answered.

"Law?" John echoed. "Do you want to be a lawyer?"

"I don't know." Hamilton was not ashamed to admit this.

"You don't know what you want to do?" John was astonished by the liberty that such a declaration could have.

John knew exactly what he was destined to do. Marry a woman, have a couple of kids, and own his father's plantation while dabbling in politics. It would be a wealthy life, certainly, but not one of his own creation.

"No." Hamilton glanced up from the parchment, smiling slightly. "I only know that I want to be successful."

"Alex," John said. "I don't know much in this life, but I do believe that you will be successful."

* * *

"So what was it like? Living on that island?" John asked the following night as he and Hamilton shed their uniforms in favor of more comfortable bedclothes. "I mean, was society...well?"

"You want to know what it was like to live in the den of thieves?" Hamilton glanced over at John as he unbuttoned his shirt, casting him a toothy grin. John tried not to stare. He could feel his face reddening. He desperately tried to will away the blood rushing to his groin.

Sharing quarters with Hamilton had been hell because of this part. John liked his company, he was a quiet sleeper, and he always woke up before John and was able to make sure John himself didn't oversleep. He was an extremely courteous roommate. He just drove John to the cusp of insanity with this nightly ritual of his. It seemed to John almost like the man tried to make changing into his bed clothes into a performances of sorts. John lived in constant fear that one day, Hamilton would glance at his groin at precisely the wrong time and would see the secret that John had been trying so desperately to hide.

"Uh, yeah." John said, trying to busy himself with folding his uniform. He turned his back on Hamilton, hoping to avoid such an incident from happening on this particular evening.

"It wasn't as bad as you might think. Most of the people who were accused of committing crimes were just poor, that's all. They were people who hadn't been given the opportunity to work hard for their money, so they tried to come by it easily. The adulterers kept to themselves, mostly, and the murderers pretty much killed each other. The only ones I had to worry about, really, were the sodomites."

"The sodomites?" John echoed weakly, turning to look at Hamilton.

Something about Hamilton's expression had changed. There was a darkness in his features; the shadow of something in his eyes. John wanted to ask more questions. He wanted Hamilton to tell him exactly why he had to worry about the sodomites. He wanted to ask Hamilton if he had ever committed sodomy, willingly or otherwise. He wanted to ask Hamilton if he hated sodomites. He wanted…

"I'm tired." Hamilton said before John could ask any further questions. "I think we probably ought to go to bed."

"Right." John agreed, his heart sinking.

Hamilton sighed as he climbed into bed. He picked up a stack of letters resting beside his cot. He always worked right up until the moment he fell asleep.

"Goodnight, John." He said.

"Goodnight, Alex." John replied.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Colonel Laurens." Washington spoke to John first for the first time since John's arrival at Valley Forge. He stood in the doorway of his quarters, observing John with his hawk-like glare. "I have happy news."

"Yes, Your Excellency?" John asked, rising to his feet.

"Another set of quarters have been vacated due to...unforeseen circumstances." Washington said.

John knew exactly what circumstances he was talking about. One of the newer officers had gotten into a duel with a recruit. The duel had been over some girl in the nearby town; the officer wanted to marry her, the recruit had bedded her. The recruit wound up shooting the officer before they reached ten. He had tried to flee, but had been caught by Washington and several other officers. He had been hanged in front of the entire camp.

"Yes, sir." John swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at the memory of the hanging. The swinging man had haunted his dreams.

"You may occupy those quarters." Washington continued as though they were discussing something as nonchalant as the weather. "I'm sure you'll enjoy having a space of your own once more."

John looked at Washington for a moment, struggling to come up with the proper thing to say. He knew that he ought to thank the man. He ought to be gracious about an offer that many of the recruits would have killed for. One's own quarters were a rare and coveted privilege as enthusiasm for the war died down and it became increasingly difficult to acquire any and all things.

He also knew that accepting these quarters would mean an end to his nights spent with Hamilton. He would no longer get to hear what thoughts were plaguing Hamilton at night, preventing him from sleeping. He would not have the privilege of seeing Hamilton's sleepy smile when whichever recruit he'd charged with waking him up on that particular day poked their head through the door and told them of the time. He would not see Hamilton disrobe at the end of a difficult day; he'd miss the way that Hamilton rolled out his shoulders and let out a deep groan. The commodity that was Hamilton's spare time was more valuable than one's own quarters.

"Sir, I'm sure that I don't deserve the honor. Wouldn't you prefer to give the quarters to a more deserving man? I have heard General Lee complaining about the unsuitability of his quarters." John said carefully.

Washington clenched his jaw.

"General Lee's quarters and his contentedness within them is none of your concern, Colonel Laurens." He said. "I am offering _you_ the quarters."

John glanced at Hamilton. Hamilton had looked up from his work. He was now regarding John and Washington with a polite, but not uninterested, expression. When John's eyes met his, Hamilton smiled gently. John wondered if it was so obvious that he didn't want to leave.

"But sir…"

"This is not up for debate, Colonel Laurens. You will accept the quarters. You will express your gratitude to me when any other members of this camp ask you about the considerable gift you have been granted. Are we clear?" Washington demanded.

"Yes, sir." John agreed meekly. "Thank you, sir."

Washington nodded, clenching his jaw again. He glanced over his shoulder in Hamilton's direction. Hamilton stared back at Washington passively. It was an unusual reaction to the General's presence, but then, Washington and Hamilton did seem to have an unusual relationship.

After a second, Washington broke the silent exchange. He turned and walked out of the door without another word. John's eyes followed him.

The door swung behind Washington. It sounded louder this time than it normally did. Hamilton followed the sound with a small and comparably insignificant sigh.

"New quarters aren't so bad." He said.

"No," John agreed. "They aren't."

They were quiet for a moment. Hamilton looked down at the work on his desk, but didn't move to pick up his quill. John didn't look at his own work. He acted as though he were thinking about something - focusing on a spot on the wall just near enough to Hamilton that he could watch the man through the corner of his eye without being accused of staring.

"There are a few letters that I'd like you to look at before I respond." Hamilton said. "Since you know the authors, I assume that you would know a more appropriate tone to respond in than I would. Only, we're a bit overwhelmed with work as it is, and I fear that the General has only grown stricter in his mandate that I cease work once the sun is down. Do you think I could come to your new quarters tonight to go over the letters?"

John's face flushed. He didn't know if Hamilton was making the offer because he sensed John's disappointment, or if it was because he was disappointed, himself. John found that he didn't much care.

"Okay." He agreed immediately. He didn't care how desperate he sounded. He was desperate.

"Okay." Hamilton smiled at John. John smiled back.

Hamilton went back to work. John didn't. It seemed impossible now; there was far too much to process to worry about yet another letter from Congress. He regretted moving to a space which was not occupied by Hamilton, but he was looking forward to spending time with Hamilton after dinner. Hamilton had specifically sought out time with John. John chewed at his lip as he forced himself to look at his work instead of staring at Hamilton. He would stare at Hamilton all night while they worked on the letters that Hamilton couldn't answer alone.

* * *

During dinner, John grabbed his helping of everything except for horse meat and trudged towards the edge of the circle of logs surrounding the fire. He usually ate alone. Sometimes Lafayette would come over and eat with him, but only when he wasn't meeting with the men under his command to "boost morale." Hamilton always ate dinner by Washington's side. John typically contented himself with watching Hamilton from a distance.

"_Mon amie_," Lafayette joined him this evening. He sat down beside John with a lofty sigh. "I hear zat I ought to congratulate you on getting new quarters. The General must have taken a liking to you."

John smiled slightly and shrugged. "I don't think so. I think he just wants to make sure my father is on his side. Congress is trying to push General Gates as his successor if we don't have a successful campaign soon."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear zat." Lafayette crooked a grin.

"Is John giving away secrets?" Hamilton approached, casting John a sunny smile.

"Something like." Lafayette replied nonchalantly.

John didn't know how he was supposed to act nonchalant. It was not common for Hamilton to sit with them during dinner. Hamilton always sat with Washington. This was the second time in which Hamilton chose to spend what precious free time he had with John. He was actively choosing John. John couldn't help but feel that some sort of special relationship existed between himself and Hamilton.

"Traitor." Hamilton grinned, winking in John's direction.

John's heart jumped into his throat.

"Why aren't you sitting with the General?" John choked out.

He didn't want to scare Hamilton away, but he couldn't help but ask. He glanced over in the direction of the area where Washington usually sat. He was surprised to see that Washington was looking back in their direction. His eyes narrowed when they met John's. John wondered if Hamilton had angered him.

"There was no matter to discuss tonight." Hamilton replied.

Lafayette smiled, his face forming an expression that John didn't know how to read.

"Anyway, erm, John." Hamilton kept talking, undisturbed. "I was thinking more about those letters."

"Yes?" John hoped that Hamilton wasn't going to decide that he didn't need assistance.

"I was thinking that we may want to start on them soon." Hamilton said. "There may be more work than we initially appreciated."

"Oh." John's heart jumped. "Certainly. When would you like to begin?"

"We could go now." Hamilton suggested.

John nodded hastily. "Sure."

"Why don't we check out your new quarters?" Hamilton suggested, standing up. John rose to his feet shakily. "I can help you move your belongings, then we can get to work."

"Okay."

"You're going to leave me here?" Lafayette asked with an amused smile. "Hamilton, I expected zis from you, but Mr. Laurens -"

"You'll forgive him." Hamilton called over his shoulder as they walked away.

John grinned to himself, exalted at the sheer idea of spending time alone with Hamilton.

"Are you going to enjoy having quarters of your own?" Hamilton asked as they walked towards the quarters that they used to share.

"I don't…" John didn't know how to answer Hamilton honestly. He didn't want to lie to the man. It felt wrong to lie to him, given all of the time that they had spent together. "It's going to be an adjustment."

Hamilton grinned. "I don't much like being on my own, either."

"Oh." John was relieved that Hamilton felt similarly, even if it was for different reasons. "Do you suppose that if we brought up our preference to the General, he might…"

"You heard how well he responds to people voicing their preferences." Hamilton rolled his eyes as they entered the quarters.

John looked around for all of his possessions. It was a bleak amount of items: a tarnished hairbrush, a goosefeather pillow, a poorly maintained diary, and a bundle of parchment and quills.

"I don't suppose you'll need very much assistance carrying everything." Hamilton remarked as John gathered his items.

"No," John agreed with a small smile. "I don't suppose I will."

"You know," Hamilton remarked as they left the quarters. They started for the abandoned quarters, clear across of camp. "The General typically assigns quarters, but he can't waste his time enforcing them."

"What do you mean?" John inquired.

"Well," Hamilton glanced down at the grass beneath his feet. "Do you know what? Forget that I said anything and forgive me for any confusion I may have caused. I must have misinterpreted - "

"No, Alex. Tell me what it was that you were considering." John pressed.

"Uh…" Hamilton licked his lips, then looked at John and smiled sheepishly. "I'm not entirely sure that it's an appropriate suggestion. I sometimes forget myself in your presence, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?" John's mouth went dry.

"I just mean that I like sharing a space with you." Hamilton said, finally.

As he said it, they arrived at John's new quarters. The building wasn't as nice as the one he'd shared with Hamilton, but a glimpse through the door revealed that he would have more space. John didn't know what he needed with such space.

"Do you mean…"

Hamilton walked inside before John could finish his question. John would not allow himself to be cheated out of the opportunity to enjoy a feeling that he had never felt before. He followed Hamilton into the quarters.

"Do you mean that you want to continue living together, without telling the General?" He inquired.

"I don't know." Hamilton responded, looking around the quarters. He was looking anywhere that wasn't in John's direction, really.

"How don't you know?" John demanded. "You were the one suggesting it."

"I just don't." Hamilton pouted. He was now glowering at the ground as though it had personally wronged him. "I fear I don't know very much when it comes to you."

"I don't know what that means." John remarked, his own brows furrowing.

He didn't know whether to be angry or hopeful.

Hamilton finally looked up from the ground. He looked straight into John's eyes. John couldn't think of a word to describe the expression on the man's face. There was a hunger to it, but also a tenderness. His eyes were dark, but there were flecks of light in there, too. His lips were parted, but he wasn't smiling or frowning.

"I'm fond of you." Hamilton said.

"I...erm, I'm fond of you, too." John faltered.

He had been expecting something besides a profession of friendship. For once in his life, he had hoped for something beyond a comfortable acquaintance with a fellow young man. He wanted Hamilton. He wanted the man more than he wanted to win the damn war. He would have sacrificed General Washington to the British himself if he could only have a single night with Hamilton.

"No, I don't mean…" Hamilton let out a small, nervous sound that might have been a laugh. "I'm fond of you in a way that men typically are not fond of other men."

John stared at Hamilton, afraid to say anything else.

"I, ah, I've actually felt this way for a while." Hamilton kept talking. He began pacing about the quarters, wringing his hands and staring straight down. "I've tried to hide it, but when I heard you arguing with the General today about changing quarters, I dared to hope that maybe...maybe you were arguing with him because you felt the same way that I did."

"I…" John's mouth was too dry. The words he so desperately wanted to say died in his throat. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

"If you do not feel similarly, do not feel compelled to spare my feelings." Hamilton implored. "Only, don't report me to the General or my fellow men. I've come too far to be sent back to that place…"

John nodded. It was the only thing he trusted himself to do.

"I understand that this is a rather difficult thing to respond to, John, but I...my apologies, am I still permitted to call you John? If you would prefer to become Mr. Laurens once again, I will honor that." Hamilton said.

"Of course, you may continue to call me John." John finally managed.

"And...your feelings?" Hamilton looked at John apprehensively.

"I, uh…" John faltered.

He had never articulated a romantic sentiment before. He didn't feel the same ardor that men seemed to fell in the presence of women, and had consequently never had to express such ardor. He didn't know the right words to say. All of the books he'd read and the conversations he'd overheard involved the correct thing to say to a woman. Hamilton was emphatically _not_ a woman. It seemed laughable that one would think to mention dainty hands and fluttering hearts in regards to him.

"I have similar feelings." John said. He tried his best to meet Hamilton's eyes while he spoke. "Although I am not quite sure how to express them at this time."

Hamilton smiled. It was the kind of smile that made him so irresistible in the first place. John wondered if he could tell Hamilton how much he enjoyed the man's smile, now that their feelings were out in the open. He wondered if they needed to have a discussion about keeping their relationship hidden from the rest of camp. They would surely be tried as sodomites if anyone were to find out.

"There weren't really letters to go over tonight." Hamilton said. "I simply wanted the excuse to speak with you after hearing your discussion with the General."

"So...what ought we do now?" John heard himself ask. He felt his face redden a bit. His heart hammered against his chest.

He knew that he felt about Hamilton the way that one ought to feel about the woman he loved. He knew that there was a physical attraction, at least on his part. He also knew that he was woefully inexperienced with any sort of physical interaction beyond dancing. He suddenly wished that he had behaved as the other men had before the war, going around and picking up affairs with any girls who would entertain them. He wondered if such experience would translate in an affair with a man.

"Our affection has not robbed us of our ability to speak, I hope." Hamilton answered easily. He sat down on the cot which was now to belong to John.

"Of course it hasn't." John nodded a little too enthusiastically.

He was relieved that Hamilton didn't want to do anything beyond talking. Hamilton seemed like the sort of man who was very experienced. John was certain that when he attended dances, all of the ladies angled their bodies towards him and prayed for the opportunity to be his dance partner.

"Do you...er, is there a lady back home?" Hamilton asked as John sat beside him on the cot.

"No." John answered quickly. "There's never been a lady."

"A handsome fellow like you? How did you manage that?" Hamilton asked with a small smile.

"I've never appealed to the fairer sex, it seems." John replied with a small shrug. He looked down at his hands. "Perhaps they're aware that I don't fancy their kind. Perhaps I'm too awkward to appeal to any of them."

"You don't fancy their kind at all?" Hamilton inquired.

"Not in the faintest." John answered uncomfortably. "Do you?"

"Well, sure." Hamilton seemed surprised by John's answer.

John wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Being abnormally close relationships with another man might have been acceptable for wartimes, when ladies were not readily available, but may have been otherwise unacceptable to Hamilton. John wondered if Hamilton had a lady waiting for him at home. He wondered if Hamilton had a wife.

"There are plenty of men who don't." Hamilton said after a moment. His smile reassured John. "Many are at this camp, as a matter of fact."

This did not reassure John.

"They are?" He asked. "How do you...I mean, are there any others that you're...fond of?"

Hamilton just smiled. "I'm just good at spotting them."

John nodded. Hamilton's answer hadn't really pacified him, but he supposed he didn't have much right to demand a history of Hamilton's romantic entanglements. They were just fond of each other, after all. Neither had said the word 'love'.

Hamilton moved his head closer to John's. John glanced at him, his eyes widening. It seemed like Hamilton was leaning in to kiss him. John had never kissed anyone before. He doubted he would be any good at it. The thought of having to figure it out with the stakes so high caused him to lurch away.

"What are you doing?" Hamilton asked, his tone amused rather than offended. He didn't jerk his own head back, he just grinned at John from where he had been interrupted.

"I-I-I...I've never done any of this before." John admitted. "I've never kissed anybody, or been affectionate with anybody. I've only ever danced. I don't want to do anything wrong, but I…"

"All right." Hamilton's voice gentled a bit. "I was only going to remove the piece of hair on your cheek."

"Oh." John said stupidly.

Hamilton drew his head back. His smile turned soft.

"We don't have to do anything which would cause you discomfort." He commented. "If you like, we could be companions only in the sense of the spoken word."

"I don't, I want…" John let out a frustrated sigh. "I think I just require a bit of time."

"Of course." Hamilton agreed, nodding. "Although I cannot resist asking - how is it that you have avoided romantic circumstances until now? Surely the ladies must have broken their own hearts trying to capture your attention."

John couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head.

"I daresay no ladies' hearts were ever broken on my behalf." He responded. "It seems that there was a mutual understanding between us. I was uninterested in them, and in turn, they were uninterested in me."

"But your father is Henry Laurens." Hamilton persisted. "Even if you weren't as devilishly handsome as you are, surely the ladies would flock to you for the social advancement of their families."

John shook his head. His father had had the same concerns at every dance and every ball that John attended. He could not understand how it was that John found himself alone for the better part of the evening.

"I suppose they think that the social advancement is not worth its price." John said.

"Of all of the ridiculous notions I've entertained, that may be the most foolish yet." Hamilton replied. "But let's not waste any more time considering the choices of a few foolish ladies. Tell me more about yourself."

"What could there be to tell?" John wondered.

Hamilton chuckled. "Everything, really. I feel as though I hardly know you. Do you have any siblings? Have you served in a militia prior to the war? Do you plan to follow your father's path into politics, despite its repugnance to you? What was the name of your first horse?"

"You really want to know all of those things?" John asked dubiously.

"And more, if you'll oblige me." Hamilton replied.

John sighed and shook his head. He couldn't bite back a smile.

"All right." He said. "I have four other siblings - two sisters, two brothers."

* * *

They talked most of the night. John couldn't remember the last time that he'd talked about himself so much. It was very possible that he had never talked about himself so much before. His throat hurt from so much talking. He didn't mind it, not one bit.

And Hamilton, unbelievable and wonderful Hamilton, he seemed to enjoy hearing John talk at great lengths about the time that he had stolen the neighbor's goat and hidden it in his bedroom. Not once did it appear that he had stopped paying attention. He smiled, nodded, asked detailed questions, and responded with similar stories from his own childhood.

When they finally fell asleep, it was just before dawn. They both slept on John's tiny cot. Hamilton slept behind John, his arm draped over John's side. John had never felt so secure. He hoped that he would get to enjoy every night by Hamilton's side for the rest of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The men awoke to the sound of General Washington's voice the next morning. It was not a pleasant sound to wake to.

"Hamilton!"

It sounded almost more like a roar than a shout. Both John and Hamilton shot up, nearly bumping heads as they looked around wildly. Both of them understood that the General could not find them in John's quarters in such a compromising position. Hamilton started for his shirt, which he'd removed before they'd fallen asleep. John rolled out of the cot and stood at his desk. He mostly wanted to turn his back to Hamilton and whomever might enter the tent, so that his morning condition would not be noticed and misconstrued.

"Hamilton!" Washington's voice drew near.

John glanced over his shoulder in Hamilton's direction. Hamilton was fully dressed and was now worrying over his hair. It was mussed up from sleep, but not unsalvageable.

"There's a brush under the pillow." John said.

Hamilton shoved the pillow out of his way and snatched up the brush. He set to work creating a neat ponytail for himself.

"Thank you." He said, his voice muffled by the ribbon he was holding between his teeth.

John nodded and turned around to look at the desk again. The adrenaline was doing nothing to help his condition. The General could not seem him in such a state. Not only would it lead to improper conclusions about his and Hamilton's relationship; it would publicly embarrass his family if he were to be dishonorably discharged from the militia for being aroused in the General's presence.

"Hamilton!" The Washington's voice couldn't have been more than a few paces away.

"Switch places with me." Hamilton commanded as he tied the ribbon around the neat ponytail he'd created for himself.

He rose from the bed and moved towards the desk. John tried to shield himself from view, but it was impossible with the brisque way that Hamilton moved.

"Put the blanket over your lap and let me do the talking." Hamilton persisted, shoving John in the direction of the bed.

John obediently sat on the bed and piled the blanket on his lap. Hamilton sat down in the worn chair at the desk, snatching a blank piece of parchment off of the desk. He picked up a quill as well, though there was no ink for the quill to be of any service.

"Hamilton."

Washington did not knock. He threw open the door with enough force to make John worry about the condition of the wall that it had hit. His face was red. He looked angry. He looked from Hamilton to John, his expression murderous.

"Hello, sir." Hamilton acted as though he didn't notice Washington's anger. He looked up from the parchment with no writing on it and had the audacity to smile.

"Hamilton, what are you doing here?" Washington demanded through gritted teeth.

"Working, of course." Hamilton responded.

Both John and Washington looked at him incredulously.

"Working?" Washington echoed.

"Yes, sir." Hamilton kept up the charade, though it was perfectly obvious that they weren't working. "I was in the office earlier this morning, but I wanted to talk to Mr. Laurens about some of our letters from Congress. It seems that he's enjoying his new quarters, because he slept in a bit later than usual. I did not want to disturb him, but I did not want to delay your correspondence, either. I thought I would come here and transcribe while Mr. Laurens woke up."

"Your quill has no ink." Washington pointed out.

"I know, sir." Hamilton agreed. "I was just asking Mr. Laurens where I might find his ink."

"It's in the sack just to your left." John said weakly.

"General Lafayette said that he hadn't seen you all morning." Washington remarked, folding his arms across his massive chest.

Hamilton shrugged. "That's entirely possible, sir. Lafayette typically drills his men while I'm at work. If I hear drills running outside, I go behind the quarters in an effort to avoid being a distraction. If I am not permitted to be a part of the drills, the very least that I can do is to avoid being a hinderance to them."

Washington clenched his jaw. "I think that I would like to speak with you privately, Hamilton."

Hamilton's smile faltered, but only for a second. "Yes, sir. Shall I bring the quill and parchment with me?"

"No." Washington said. "You may leave those for Colonel Laurens to worry over."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton glanced over his shoulder in John's direction. "Mr. Laurens, we will have to continue the correspondence after my meeting with General Washington. In the meantime, I recommend going to work in a location that is not your bed."

"I agree. Thank you, Mr. Hamilton." John tried to match Hamilton's watery smile.

Washington turned around and walked out the door. Hamilton nodded at John before following Washington out the door. He was most likely going to be yelled at, John knew. It seemed that Washington expected more from Hamilton than he did from John.

Once the door clicked shut behind Hamilton, John rolled out of the cot once again. His arousal was no longer a problem; it had been taken care of by the strange and heated exchange between Washington and Hamilton. He set to work changing out of his clothes from the day before into a fresher - though not fresh - uniform. Once he was changed, he abandoned his quarters and began to walk towards Washington's quarters, where he would begin work for the day. He hoped that Washington was through with Hamilton.

Evidently, though, Washington had quite a bit to say to Hamilton. When John opened the door, he saw that Hamilton's desk was empty. He could hear the sound of Washington's voice upstairs, towards his sleeping quarters. Washington was yelling. To John's surprise, it sounded as though Hamilton was yelling, too.

"Mr. Laurens." Lafayette entered the office area just after John had. "I'm afraid that General Washington and Mr. Hamilton are still engaged at the moment. Would you help me drill my men until they're done? I fear you will not accomplish much with the noise."

"Do you think the General would be all right with that?" John asked, glancing in the direction of the stairwell.

The shouting got louder. It was followed by the sound of something shattering. John jumped. Lafayette frowned at him piteously.

"Should I go up there?" John wondered. "I'm beginning to fear that he may be hurting Hamilton."

"He would never hurt Hamilton." Lafayette responded.

Lafayette grabbed John by the arm and led him towards the outside, just as a second mysterious item upstairs shattered.

"Why does the General always yell at him, and never me?" John asked as they walked past a group of men crawling around with their bayonets in hand. One of the men was teetering dangerously close to the other. John hoped he would not witness a stabbing while he was out there.

"General Washington and Mr. Hamilton have a very...ah..._complicated_ relationship." Lafayette answered, his hands folded behind his back as they walked along the ranks of men. "Both of zem have very high tempers. It takes zem a while to calm down once zey are angry."

"Do you think that General Washington doesn't want to yell at me because of my father?" John persisted. "I would never write to my father to tell him that I was reprimanded. Even if I were to take such action, my father would never condemn the General for it. He has told me on several occasions that he would like for me to achieve a higher level of discipline."

"Oh, but why are you so offended that no one is yelling at you, Monsieur Laurens?" Lafayette teased in a tone that only the French could achieve. "Zere is plenty of time for ze General to yell at you, too."

John frowned and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Washington's quarters. The curtains were drawn, disabling him from seeing if the two men were still fighting. John wondered if he was expected to follow Lafayette around like a lost puppy until either Washington or Hamilton came out of the quarters.

"Say, Lafayette…" He started uncertainly. "Are you married?"

"_Oui_." Lafayette let out a heavy sigh. "More's ze tragedy. _Maman_ selected a suitable wife for me prior to ze wear. Adrienne is a beautiful woman - beautiful, _oui_? _Oui_, beautiful - but I have found zat I have a predilection for your American women."

John nodded to himself, frowning.

"Are you married, Monsieur Laurens?" Lafayette inquired.

"No." John replied, his frown deepening. "I fear that I may not be well-suited for marriage."

"Is any man?" Lafayette joked.

John tried to smile.

"I was wondering what you could tell me about the physical component of such bonds." He said, his eyebrows furrowing.

It was an odd request to make of other men, but John felt as though he could trust Lafayette. The man seemed to know just about everything else. So long as John didn't mention that he was getting advice that would hopefully become useful around Hamilton, it was harmless to ask.

"What do you mean?" Lafayette glanced at John, his expression strange.

"I find myself in circumstances in which one might appreciate knowledge or experience in such matters." John explained, looking at the drilling men. "There's a...er, a _lady_ of whom I have grown fond."

"Aha." Lafayette grinned. "You wish to grow closer with her, eh?"

"Yes." John's face reddened a bit. "But I'm concerned over my lack of knowledge. I have never been particularly affectionate with another woman before, but I don't want to proceed without any knowledge of what to do. I, er, I would appreciate any advice you could give me."

"Women are like rare flowers." Lafayette remarked, glancing at his men to make sure they were still following his orders before looking at John again. "Each one is special, but zey are all sensitive. If your lady is truly a lady, she will fight you until your wedding night."

John had hoped that Lafayette would skip the traditional advice of celibacy. The country was changing, as was the moral landscape of its occupants. Surely Lafayette could part with some advice and skip the lecture about waiting until marriage.

"Right." John mumbled.

"Ah, I'm just joking with you, eh?" Lafayette laughed, clapping John on the back. "If you wish to seduce a woman, here is what you must know. First, you must get her away from all of ze well-bred women she knows. Rumors will ruin any affair faster than the kiss of death himself."

"That won't be a problem." John remarked.

"So it is, _Monsieur_ Laurens!" Lafayette chuckled. "I can tell zat you are successful with ze women, no?"

John forced a smile. "What's the next step?"

"Ah, patience is key, _mon amie_." Lafayette chastised him with no real bite. "A woman does not appreciate an impatient man. The next step is to make her feel as though she is ze one in charge, of course. Women want to feel safe. Zey have been told 'orror stories about what awaits zem in ze bedroom, but zey are not so scared zat zey will not look for themselves."

"So, I'm supposed to sit in the room and wait for her to do something?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You're supposed to let her _think_ you're waiting for her to do something." Lafayette corrected him. "All while suggesting what it is zat you would like to do."

"How do I get her to kiss me?" John asked. "And how...how do I know if I'm any good at it?"

Lafayette grinned. He might have been gearing up to laugh at John, but he didn't.

"Look at her lips." He advised. "Ladies are not as complicated as you American men say, eh? If you stare at her lips for long enough, she'll think about lips, too. If she thinks about lips, she thinks about kissing. If you are ze only other man in the room, well, she'll think about kissing you."

"And how does one kiss well?" John inquired meekly.

"Now zat, I'm afraid, is pure instinct." Lafayette replied. "Don't hurry to use tongue. Most ladies do not like to imagine there is anything but lips for the first few times."

Like the ladies Lafayette was describing, John had not factored tongues in, either. He had purely been worried about his lips. Now, he worried about the tongue, too. He worried about his teeth as well. If Lafayette believed that tongues were a concerned entity, why weren't teeth?

"General Lafayette." Washington's voice boomed from behind them.

John jumped. Lafayette turned around, his smile smoothing into something more professional. John wondered how it was that no one else was surprised when Washington yelled out their name.

"Yes, your Excellency?" Lafayette asked.

"How are the drills fairing?" Washington's eyes flicked to look at John. John shrank back behind Lafayette.

"Very well, sir. You were correct - ze men are responding very well to ze realistic scenarios. Would you like to run ze next drill?" Lafayette's entire demeanor had changed.

"Yes. Thank you, General." Washington agreed, approaching to stand on the other side of Lafayette.

He then glanced around Lafayette at John.

"Colonel Laurens," He said. "Is there any particular reason why you are watching other men work without doing any constructive work, yourself?"

"No, sir." John replied quickly.

His face flushed with embarrassment as he backed away from the men and began walking towards the quarters. He hurried his step once he heard the soldiers begin drilling at Washington's command.

When John reached quarters, he hesitated outside of the door. He considered that Hamilton might or might not be on the other side of the door. Based off of the sounds he'd heard before Lafayette had dragged him away, Hamilton might be grievously injured. It seemed as though Washington had the authority to abuse his men as he saw fit. A man without a distinguished family such as Hamilton would incite no objections if Washington were to thrash him every now and again.

John sucked in a deep breath and opened the door.

He hadn't expected to see Hamilton sitting at his desk, working as though nothing had happened. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. It took a couple of seconds, though it felt like minutes, for Hamilton to look up from his parchment.

"Oh." He said. "There you are."

"Here I am." John agreed, his eyebrows furrowing. He closed the door to quarters behind him and walked towards his desk. "The General was really laying into you."

"You heard?" Hamilton seemed surprised.

"Only a few minutes. I helped Lafayette run drills most of the time." John replied.

Hamilton nodded, his mouth forming a tight, grim line. "He's got a temper."

"So I heard." John agreed. "Are you...okay?"

"Yes." Hamilton answered straight away. "It was only yelling."

"Did he, I mean, are we…" John didn't know how to ask the question.

"He thinks that I was being lazy this morning." Hamilton replied. His quirked a small smile. "A first for me."

"Good." John nodded, content. "So, does this mean that you're going to start staying in your own quarters at night? I understand if you will, I only.."

"I'll see you tonight John."

"Oh." John tried to temper his smile. It was impossible. "Okay, sure."

"Now get to work." Hamilton said. "Before I get yelled at again."

John nodded, trying to bite back his smile. When he snuck a glance up at Hamilton, he could see that Hamilton was smiling, too.

* * *

They worked until after dinner that night. Washington didn't stop in to tell Hamilton to stop. It seemed that someone had to remind the man that the sun had gone down, otherwise he would work clear through the night. John waited as long as he could before finally rising to his feet and approaching Hamilton's desk.

"Alex." He said. "It's late. We should call it a night."

"Huh?" Hamilton looked around in confusion. Once he laid eyes on the window, which exhibited the darkened sky, his shoulders sank. "Oh. Did we miss dinner?"

"Yeah." John didn't bother lying.

"I'm sorry." Hamilton frowned. "I'm nearly out of supplies from town. Do you think there'll be any dinner left from earlier?"

"I don't know…" John answered with a shrug. "But I'm not that hungry, anyway."

Hamilton smiled. "Me, neither. Why don't we return to your quarters? We could finish our conversation from this morning."

"Okay." John agreed.

They began to walk towards John's quarters. John wondered if he should ask Hamilton more about his interaction with Washington, but ultimately decided against it. It didn't seem like the sort of thing that he wanted to talk about. Hamilton seemed content to stay silent on the matter.

They reached quarters after a fairly silent walk. John could only think about his conversation with Lafayette. He had decided during the day that he wanted Hamilton to kiss him. He had never been kissed before.

"I had to write another letter to John Adams today." Hamilton said as they sat beside each other on John's cot.

Hamilton sat towards the head of the bed. He leaned a bit against the pillows and stretched out his legs along the right side of the bed. John sat at the foot of the bed and folded his legs underneath him. He didn't mind the feeling of Hamilton's legs against his side.

"Yeah?" John tried to redirect his eyes towards Hamilton's lips. He fought his natural instinct to meet Hamilton's eyes while the man spoke.

"I wish that it was appropriate to tell that man what I really think of his courtesies and fine words." Hamilton continued, oblivious to John's staring. "He's the man spearheading the efforts to replace General Washington with General Gates. If Gates were to receive the command, I believe that I would be reduced to the front lines."

"Hmm." John hummed.

He widened his eyes, hoping that it would cause Hamilton to notice. Lafayette hadn't told him about any contingencies if the lip-staring method were to fail. He had sounded so confident, as though it were the only tactic John would ever need to know of.

"I suppose going to the front lines would be better than serving as General Washington's private secretary, in a way. I would be able to distinguish myself in a way other than the speed with which I wield a pen." Hamilton continued.

"Mm-hmm." John murmured uncertainly.

He leaned forward a bit, hoping that between the leaning and the widened eyes, Hamilton would figure it out. Unfortunately, he misjudged the strength of his core and tumbled forward, face-first into Hamilton's lap. John spluttered as he rolled away. He wound up on the floor, his head and arm throbbing with pain.

Hamilton peered over the edge of the cot, his expression curious.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Yes." John grumbled, climbing back up onto the cot.

His face burned with embarrassment. He tried to ignore the ache of his arm as he settled back onto the cot.

"What happened?" Hamilton inquired.

"It's stupid." John said.

"The fall would lead me to that conclusion, yes." Hamilton agreed, his mouth curving into an amused grin. "Tell me, anyway."

There was a twinkle in his eye. John couldn't help but smile, despite his embarrassment. He bit at his lips and shifted his posture. The shift caused a twinge of pain to shoot through his arm again.

"I asked Lafayette for advice on...erm...intimate relationships." He tried to explain.

Hamilton chuckled. "There was your first mistake. Go on - you cannot leave me in suspense. What in the world could he have told you that led to you laying on the floor?"

John groaned, but continued to smile. "He told me that if I stared at your lips, you would kiss me."

"Is that why you were looking at me that way?" Hamilton barked out a laugh. "I thought that there was something on my face. I was beginning to worry that it was something poisonous."

"Why didn't you say anything if you noticed?" John demanded.

"I was hoping that you would stop." Hamilton replied. "Do you..._want_ me to kiss you?"

"I...er, well, yes, I suppose I -"

Hamilton's lips were on John's before John could finish his sentence. It was just as well. John hadn't known what he would say. It seemed that every word he said only buried him further.

While John did not know anything about kissing, Hamilton seemed to know everything. The kiss started out slow and deliberate. Hamilton's lips left John's every few seconds, but they didn't go farther than a few centimeters away before they were back on John's. Hamilton cupped the side of John's face with his hand, then pushed it upwards to tangle it in his hair. After a few seconds - or maybe minutes, maybe hours - Hamilton's lips began working against John's, gently prying them open. As John parted his lips, Hamilton's tongue moved into his mouth.

The idea of someone else's tongue in his mouth had never really appealed to John before now. However, Hamilton was making a very good case for it. He managed to make the kiss both tender and forceful. He was considerate of John's nerves while at the same time being every inch the commanding officer between them. Hamilton's hands began to stray from John's hair, brushing against every inch of skin he could touch.

As John grew more comfortable with the situation, he began participating a bit more. Hamilton seemed encouraged by that participation. His hands no longer merely brushed against John's body - he was grabbing. His tongue was now an occupying force in John's mouth, pushing into him as though it were searching for something. John's skin was starting to grow warm despite the cool temperature of the autumn night. His body was beginning to betray him, acting out in various ways without permission from his brain.

Hamilton pulled away from the kiss just as John was beginning to consider unlacing his britches. John forced his eyes open. He was surprised to see that Hamilton was grinning. He didn't have it in him to grin back. He felt far too much like a fish out of water for smiling. He chanced a glance down towards Hamilton's groin. If Hamilton was aroused, he was doing exceptionally well at hiding it. John was far too embarrassed to look down at himself. He was fairly certain that he knew what he would see.

"Don't ask Lafayette for advice again." Hamilton said. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

John just smiled back weakly.

Hamilton looked at him for a moment. He looked over John's face, his brows furrowed and his lips parted. John fidgeted, uncomfortable under Hamilton's intense gaze.

"I should go." Hamilton said.

"What?" John didn't hide his surprise.

Hamilton smiled sheepishly. "I've been neglecting the General and his correspondence for the past few days. It has not gone unnoticed. The General has now requested that once I am through with my usual work, I am to assist him with his correspondence in the evening. Once I am through, however, I would like to return to you. Would I be welcome?"

"Y-yes. Yes, of course." John agreed hastily. "You are always welcome here."

Hamilton nodded. He rose to his feet, his smile in place. "I'll return as soon as I am able."

John nodded, also rising to his feet.

They walked towards the door. John started to open the door for Hamilton. Hamilton shut it before John could open it all the way. He leaned forward and kissed John before John could question his act.

This kiss was not like its predecessor. It was swift and quick and involved very little moisture. Hamilton grinned at John when he pulled back, then swung open the door and walked out into the night. John was left standing in the doorway, smiling after him.

* * *

Hamilton returned to John's quarters a few hours later. He didn't say much about the work he had done with Washington. John did not ask. He could only hope that Washington was treating Hamilton kinder than he had witnessed during the past few days. They didn't kiss much upon Hamilton's return. John was groggy from being woken up, and Hamilton seemed tired. John was happy just to have Hamilton sleeping beside him.

After that night, they fell into a routine. John and Hamilton would eat dinner separately at meal time - John would typically dine with Lafayette, while Hamilton sat with Washington - then would return to John's quarters together. They would kiss for a while - once or twice they progressed just beyond kissing - then Hamilton would disappear to work with Washington on his correspondence.

For a few days and nights, this system worked very well. John had never slept better than he did with Hamilton on his side. Hamilton seemed more pleasant at work. Both of them collaborated on their tasks much better. They were able to have entire conversations with just their eyes.

The system came to a screeching halt on the first cold night of the winter season. Snow had begun to fall around camp. John glanced at his fireplace forlornly. He'd discussed chopping some firewood with Hamilton during the day, but both of them had run out of time.

John shivered as the wind howled around his quarters. Some of the air cut through the cracks in the walls. It nipped at the few patches of bare skin John could not cover up; his face, his hands, and the spot on his foot where a hole had been worn in his sock.

He did not want Hamilton to come to his quarters and suffer from chills. He knew that Hamilton had firewood near his own quarters. He also knew that Washington could see Hamilton's quarters from his window. John would not be able to sneak into Hamilton's quarters without being noticed by Washington. If Hamilton opted to remain in his own, warm quarters for the night, John would be stuck sleeping alone.

John decided that he would borrow some of the firewood from Hamilton's quarters. If Hamilton was still working with Washington on the correspondence, he would be in Washington's quarters. If Washington were to see him sneaking into Hamilton's quarters - unlikely, if the two men were hard at work - John would be able to state that he was merely borrowing firewood from his friend.

He put on his boots and shrugged on the patched coat he'd inherited from a soldier who had died of dysentery a few days prior. He reluctantly opened his door to his quarters and was nearly knocked off of his feet by the cold. He hated the cold of the north. He missed warm and sunny South Carolina, if for no other reason than it rarely snowed. He raised his shoulders until they nearly touched his ears, trying to protect himself as best he could from the cold. With this stance in place, he started for Hamilton's quarters.

It was quiet around camp. There were a few soldiers huddled by the fire, but none of them paid much attention to John. Everyone was too cold to call out or mock one another. John was too cold to appreciate this change in the soldiers' behavior.

When he reached Hamilton's quarters, he glanced in the direction of Washington's quarters. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Hamilton at work. He loved the way that Hamilton looked when he was hard at work. He loved the way that Hamilton's eyes focused, the way that his forehead creased, the way that his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a frown…

John didn't see any of that in the window to Washington's quarters. Instead, he saw Washington kissing Hamilton. _His_ Hamilton.

Without a single word, he turned around and walked back to his quarters.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

"Hey, you're awake." Hamilton didn't act unusual when he entered the room. He smiled in John's direction as he started to shed his coat.

John had been hoping that Hamilton would act strange. He'd been hoping that Hamilton would come into his quarters looking troubled, debating whether or not he ought to tell John about the strange and unusual thing that had happened to him while in Washington's quarters. The fact that Hamilton was not acting strange meant that nothing strange had happened. Washington kissing him was unremarkable. It wasn't an outlier - it was a habit.

"John?" Hamilton approached the bed, his smile fading only a bit. He waved a hand in front of John's face. "Are you all right? You look angry. Did I do something wrong?"

John looked up at Hamilton. It hurt his heart to look into Hamilton's eyes.

"Oh," Hamilton looked over his shoulder in the direction of the fireplace. "Are you angry because I forgot to chop firewood? It is rather cold in here, but I can retrieve my blankets from my quarters, if you'd like. I could go get firewood, too."

John looked down at the ground. He could feel his eyes burning.

"Don't be angry with me about the firewood, John." Hamilton implored, his voice honey-sweet. He sat down on the bed beside John and leaned towards him. "I'll warm you up, myself."

"I saw you kissing the General." John finally said.

He hadn't managed to speak very loudly, but against the quiet of the night, his words rang out like a gunshot.

"What?" Hamilton recoiled.

John continued to look down at the ground. "I went to your quarters to retrieve some firewood. I saw you and the General kissing through the General's window."

"I, uh…" Hamilton faltered. "_He_ kissed _me_. That was...I, uh...I didn't…"

"I think that you should return to your own quarters for the night." John said.

"No!" Hamilton responded, his voice reaching an almost frantic note. "Look, John. You're...uh...you're right. This has been going on for longer than I've known you. I didn't tell you because I was afraid that you would think it meant anything to me. I didn't want you to abandon me because you thought there was competition in Washington."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, finally looking up at Hamilton with a frown.

He just wanted Hamilton to leave. He wanted to be left alone to his misery. He did not want Hamilton to try to justify his bad behavior. Perhaps he should have persisted in telling Hamilton to sleep in his own quarters instead of asking for clarification.

"The General knew that I was from the Caribbean when I entered his service, just like you. He asked about the sodomites, too, just like you. I hadn't figured out the consequences of speaking honestly when he asked the question, however, and after he had earned my trust, I told him about...erm…"

Hamilton was visibly uncomfortable. He was looking down at his hands with a faraway look on his face. He fidgeted as though he were physically incapable of getting comfortable. John wished that he would say whatever it was that he was trying to say and leave.

"My family didn't have a lot of money," Hamilton tried again. He took deep breaths between his words. "And my father, um, he wasn't a good man. He knew that there was a, um, a market for men, especially younger boys, who might satisfy the desires of the sodomites. Whores fetch a pretty penny, after all, and there's a dozen of them to each man."

A feeling of dread bloomed in John's chest. He wanted Hamilton to leave more than ever. He wanted Hamilton to quit his quarters without ever finishing the story he was struggling to tell. He couldn't bring himself to say so. It didn't really matter whether Hamilton finished the story or not. John knew how it ended. If Hamilton didn't finish it, John would be left guessing the extent to which Hamilton had incurred abuse.

Hamilton shook his head, letting out a shaky breath. "I thought I had escaped it all when I arrived in the colonies. Once General Washington heard my story, he, um, he began to behave like my father had. He wouldn't tell me what he wanted, exactly, but he would, um, he would hint at it. He would imply that if I were to do this...one little thing for him, there might be a reward in it for me. If I didn't, I might offend him and risk a demotion. I didn't want to tell you about it, because I, um, I didn't want you to look at me the way that you're looking at me now. I didn't want you to pity me, and I didn't want you to lose your affection for me. Please, John. I need you."

There were tears in Hamilton's eyes. John blinked back his own tears.

"Do you love him?" He asked.

He didn't want to forgive Hamilton, but he didn't want to banish him, either. He wanted to return to the time when he hadn't known any of this information. Hamilton's face hadn't been tainted by the knowledge that Washington had also been kissing it. John's heart hadn't been troubled by the conflicting anger and sympathy that he felt.

"How could I?" Hamilton responded, his voice thick with tears.

John glared down at his hands, trying to figure out what he wanted. Part of him wanted Hamilton to stay. That part of him wanted to hold Hamilton and tell him that everything was all right. Part of him wanted to demand that Hamilton leave. That part of him wanted to throttle Hamilton and scream at him for ruining his first love.

"Can I stay?" Hamilton dared to ask. "Please, John."

John hesitated.

"Fine." He said, finally.

Hamilton let out a sigh. "Thank you."

He removed his shoes and crawled behind John. Once he had laid down, he looked at John expectantly. He quite obviously expected John to curl up beside him. John could not bring himself to satisfy this expectation. Instead, he stood up. He laid his jacket out on the floor and tossed a pair of socks just above it.

"What are you doing?" Hamilton inquired meekly.

"I am not ready to share a bed with you." John answered, lowering himself to the floor. He pulled the jacket over him and rested his head on the pair of socks. It was all fantastically uncomfortable, but still preferable to sharing the bed with Hamilton.

"Don't do this." Hamilton implored him. "At least let me be the one to sleep on the floor."

"I'll be fine where I am, thank you." John replied stiffly.

"John…" Hamilton protested.

"Goodnight, Mr. Hamilton." John said.

He turned over to face the fireplace which contained no fire. Hamilton was left with a view of his back.

He pretended not to hear Hamilton's stifled sobs throughout the night.

* * *

The next day proved to be remarkably unproductive. Hamilton didn't eat breakfast. John didn't, either. Both of them sat gloomily on logs surrounding the camp fire while Lafayette talked about some letter he'd recently received from a friend. At one point, Washington approached them to tell Hamilton about preparations which needed to be made for his visiting wife. John glowered at Washington. Washington didn't seem to notice. Hamilton agreed to make the preparations, nervously looking at John every few words.

After breakfast, both men went to Washington's quarters to do their jobs. Hamilton worked slower than John had ever seen him work before. He kept looking up at John with misty eyes. John tried to busy himself to avoid these stares. He found that he couldn't focus on the words on the parchment. Despite his best efforts to think about anything else, his mind kept returning to the thought of Hamilton as a boy, being sold on the streets by his own father.

John wanted to be angry with him. Hamilton's admittedly tragic past did not give John any less right to feel hurt by his dishonesty. He wanted to be able to enjoy his feelings without any residual guilt for what Hamilton had told him the night before.

"You should have told me." He said out loud. He glared across the room in Hamilton's direction.

Hamilton perked up, like a dog hearing a call from its master. He eyed John uncertainly.

"If you had just told me…" John tried again, his voice cracking. Whether it was out of anger or grief, not even John could say.

"I know." Hamilton agreed hastily. "I was wrong."

"I don't know what to do, now." John admitted. Despite the vulnerability of his words, his tone was angry.

"Okay." Hamilton appeared equally puzzled.

"I'm very angry with you." John continued.

"I understand." Hamilton nodded.

John was quiet, considering his options.

He could stop seeing Hamilton. He could tell Hamilton never to come to his quarters again. Work during the day might be awkward, but Hamilton was sleeping with Washington. He was likely to get a promotion soon, anyway. But then, he would miss Hamilton. He would miss the feeling of another body beside him at night. He would be concerned about Hamilton, too. Learning that Washington was preying on him was troublesome. Without someone to talk to, John worried that Hamilton might be placed in a more difficult situation.

His only other option was to continue seeing Hamilton. John wasn't sure that he was equipped to deal with the emotional turmoil that this choice would bring. From what Hamilton had told him the night before, he would not stop seeing Washington. It sounded as though he would lose his job if he told Washington no, and Hamilton did not have family money to fall back upon if he were to be dismissed. John didn't know if he could stomach sleeping next to a man who had shared a bed with another just hours before. But Hamilton was the first person that John had ever loved. He was the first man that John had allowed himself to feel for.

"I…" John could feel Hamilton watching him intently. His stomach churned. His limbs were trembling. "I think that I would still like for you to sleep in my quarters."

"Really?" Hamilton asked breathlessly.

John nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"Do you...could we...er, I don't know that I am of much use working right now." Hamilton remarked, looking down at his desk regretfully before looking at John. He looked so hesitant, like he might say the wrong thing at any given moment and cause John to change his mind. It was so unlike that Hamilton John had come to know and love.

"Do you think that we could return to your quarters, if only for a short while?" Hamilton continued, casting John a hopeful look.

"Don't you think the General will be angry with us for leaving work in the middle of the day?" John asked.

The question made him remember the morning in which Washington had burst into his quarters. His stomach churned as he realized that Hamilton had not lied to Washington to protect his and John's homosexual conduct. He had lied because he hadn't wanted Washington to know that there was another man enjoying him in the same way.

"I don't care." Hamilton shook his head. "I just want to be with you."

John sighed and looked outside of the window. He could see Washington riding his horse through camp from a great distance. It was possible that he would be occupied until dinnertime.

"Fine." John agreed. "But we should return before too long. I would like to avoid being noticed, if at all possible."

Hamilton nodded eagerly.

Both men rose from their seats and approached the exit. They walked through camp together, keeping a distance between their bodies. They talked about frivolities - the weather, the state of their uniforms, and generally known camp gossip. They could not risk any of the enlisted men overhearing them talk about anything more serious.

When they reached John's quarters, John shut the door behind them. Hamilton shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of John's desk chair before sitting on the cot. He looked at John guiltily.

"I _am_ sorry." He said, as though John had disputed this fact.

John swallowed and nodded. "I know."

"I would quit my job or request a transfer, but I…" Hamilton looked down at the ground.

"I know." John said, again.

"I love you." Hamilton's eyes met John's. "Regardless of the General, and camp, and the rules...I love you, John."

It was the first time either of them had said the phrase to one another. John might have scoffed, if his heart weren't hammering against his chest. He'd never experienced a profession of love before. It felt as though the world had no choice but to change, now. Everything would be different. Washington was the villain, standing in the way of two lovers. Naturally, he would not succeed. The war would come to an end, allowing Hamilton and John to return to a simple life together. Perhaps they could move to France. It was rumored that Louis XIV's brother had been a sodomite.

"I...I love you." John said, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

Hamilton's face broke out into a relieved smile. He rose from the cot and approached John. He cupped John's face in his hands and kissed him. He kissed him long and hard. John leaned back against the wall, all but melting in Hamilton's arms.

That afternoon, in his freezing quarters, John shed his clothes and his fear of sex. Hamilton talked him through every step of the way. He listened when John asked for a break. He made jokes to lighten the tension. He kissed John and told him how incredible he was.

The course of the afternoon left both men lying on the cot, laughing as they recounted their most embarrassing childhood stories. Hamilton told John about the time his church's priest walked in on him in the outhouse, then spoke to the entire church about cleanliness. John told Hamilton about the time his father found him trying to ride his pony while naked - he'd been told the story of Lady Godiva and had wanted to replicate the scene around the plantation.

John was startled to realize that, despite what everyone had told him about sex and homosexuality, he didn't feel dirty. The closeness he shared with Hamilton felt like something sacred, something pure. He didn't feel tarnished by the experience; he felt more complete than he ever had.

"I love you, John." Hamilton said for what must have been the fiftieth time. He seemed to like saying it.

John smiled and buried his face in Hamilton's neck. "I love you, too."

Hamilton let out a contented sigh and pressed his face into the top of John's head.

"We should go back to work." John said regretfully.

"Mmm." Hamilton groaned in protest. He leaned back and threw his arm over his eyes. "No. No more work today. I can get some parchment and a quill and write letters to Congress right here."

"I'm sure that John Adams would love reading a letter written from our bed." John chuckled. "But I would rather you didn't spill ink on me. Get up - it's not going to get any easier the longer we wait."

"Ugh." Hamilton groaned again as John hoisted himself up off of the cot.

John began dressing himself. Hamilton rolled over, propping his head up with his arm.

"What are you doing?" He complained. "Get back in bed. It's warm here."

"Here." John tossed Hamilton's breeches in his direction.

Hamilton let out a loud noise of protest as he finally heaved himself out of bed. He set to work getting dressed alongside of John. They exchanged conspiratory smiles.

Once they were dressed and had corrected their hair, they exited John's quarters. John looked around camp for any sign of Washington. He was no longer visible near the drilling men. Lafayette alone was supervising.

"The General is speaking with the scouts." Hamilton saw John looking and pointed out Washington. He was partially hidden by the corner of a brick building. He was, in fact, speaking with the scouts. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth was curved down in a frown.

John nodded. "Let's hurry before he sees us."

He and Hamilton quickened their pace to make it to Washington's quarters before Washington spotted them. When they reached the quarters, each of them sat at their respective desks. They exchanged smiles before looking down at their work. John was pleasantly surprised to realize that he was able to process the words much better than he had this morning.

"I love you, John." Hamilton said for the fifty-first time that day.

"I love you, too." John said, smiling as he leafed through his work.

* * *

Sharing Hamilton proved to be the most difficult thing that John had ever done.

Dinner time was a struggle every evening. John was forced to watch Hamilton sit beside Washington every evening. Sometimes Lafayette would join him. Most times, John sat by himself and stewed. Every time Hamilton smiled at Washington, John had to resist the urge to throw his flask at them. Every time Washington laughed at something Hamilton said, John had to clear his throat loudly to try and block out the noise.

The time that Hamilton and John spent together after dinner was some comfort to John. In those moments, Hamilton was entirely his. Most of the time, Hamilton would climb out of bed to read or write something. No matter how absorbed he got in his work, though, he would always look back at John; he'd smile and tell John that he loved him. He said it so often that John had lost count.

Late at night, when John would start to doze off, Hamilton would plant a kiss to his forehead and whisper that he had to go. He never said where he was going. There was no need. Both of them knew exactly where he was going. John pretended that, while Hamilton was gone, he slept. He never slept. Sometimes he would spend the time crying. Sometimes he'd just glare at the wall and torture himself by imagining what was going on in Washington's quarters. Sometimes he would fantasize about breaking into Washington's quarters with his musket and murdering Washington. He would always feel guilty about those fantasies. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he was willing to commit treason and ruin any prospect of winning the war if it meant keeping Hamilton to himself.

When Hamilton returned, he was always guilty. He would knock before entering. John always told him to come in. He'd tried to tell Hamilton that he didn't need to knock, but he had given up. Hamilton would bow his head as he entered the quarters, looking at John apprehensively. John would not yell at him during this time. He would pull back the covers and gesture for Hamilton to join him. Hamilton would shed his jacket and climb into the cot beside him, pulling John close to his chest. Neither of them would say a word about Washington.

This routine came to an abrupt end one day, when Hamilton returned to John's quarters without knocking on the door, and without a guilty expression. He was beaming.

"Martha Washington is expected to arrive at camp tomorrow." He explained, shrugging off his jacket and launching himself onto John's cot.

"The General's wife?" John asked, surprised.

Hamilton nodded. "She's going to be staying with him for an entire month. That's a whole month in which I can stay right here with you, all night long."

"Really?" John asked, his mouth curved upwards into a smile.

Hamilton nodded, grinning.

John curled up against Hamilton's chest, smiling to himself. Hamilton, all his for an entire month. It was possible that within the month, Washington would find a new target. It was also possible that Martha Washington could be convinced to stay for longer than a month. If John played his cards right, he might be able to keep Hamilton all to himself for the rest of his life.

* * *

There was something resembling a ceremony around camp for Martha Washington's arrival. The General wore his best uniform. He'd demanded that everyone else wear their best uniforms, too. Lafayette stood beside Washington as they waited at the gate. The smell of pork - real pork, not just horse meat disguised as pork - wafted through the air. Washington had asked Hamilton to recover resources from local towns in preparation for Martha's arrival. Hamilton had restocked his own stash - John's quarters were full of apples, pears, bread, and cheese.

"There she is." Hamilton nudged John in the ribs as the sound of hooves approached.

"Her?" John didn't hide his surprise as he watched a small woman leading a small pack of people through the gates.

She was beautiful. John did not have a particular appetite for women, but even he could see it. She was petite, but her expression was fierce. She looked around with amber eyes, her mouth curved down and her eyebrows furrowed critically. Her posture was straight despite the gait of her massive horse. Her dress was purple, the color of royalty. Her slippers were velvet and untouched by dust despite the long ride she must have faced.

"The man behind her is her son, Jack." Hamilton whispered to John. "Beside Jack is his wife, Nellie."

John nodded, unable to speak. It was a strange feeling, seeing Washington's entire family while standing beside Hamilton. John could not understand how Washington could behave so terribly. He had a beautiful wife and a married son, and yet, he was taking advantage of Hamilton.

Washington helped Martha down from her horse. She curtsied before him. He smiled at her with the same kind of smile he afforded Hamilton, then pulled her forward by the hand and kissed her cheek. He gestured towards Lafayette. Lafayette bowed before her and spoke a few words with a charming smile. Martha laughed and said a few words back. Washington then continued down the line, introducing Martha to each of his officers in turn. John realized that they were drawing nearer to Hamilton and himself. His stomach sank.

"You remember Hamilton, dear, don't you?" Washington led Martha towards them, gesturing towards Hamilton.

"Of course." Martha smiled at Hamilton affectionately. "I haven't heard of any heartbreaks recently, Mr. Hamilton. I hope my husband has not been keeping you too busy."

It felt wrong, watching Martha tease Hamilton as though they were friends. John looked at Washington. Washington was smiling between them like a dutiful husband. John then looked at Hamilton. Hamilton was laughing at Martha's joke. It seemed that John was the only one incapable of pretending that the situation was not a horrendous one.

"He has, ma'am." Hamilton said, grinning. "I fear the war has kept me from pursuing my interests as much as I would like."

"I fear the ladies don't know what they have in store when we win this war." Martha smiled at Hamilton before looking to John. "You must be Mr. Laurens."

"Yes, ma'am." John answered shakily.

He did know if he was as capable as Hamilton and Washington of acting sociable and pretending that there was not an affair to hide. He could feel Hamilton and Washington's eyes on him. He wondered what would become of him if he were to ruin Washington's marriage.

"I've met your father on countless occasions. He's a wonderful man." Martha said. "He tells me that you are an exceptional young man."

"Thank you, ma'am." John nodded, uncertain of what he was supposed to say.

"I would like it very much if you were to take my son under your wing during our visit." Martha glanced over her shoulder in Jack's direction. He was inspecting Lafayette's saber while Lafayette smiled indulgently. "I fear he does not have the same military experience as you, but he is curious about George's lifestyle. I would consider it a great kindness if he were permitted to remain by your side."

"Yes, ma'am." John agreed.

His heart sank. He did not want to speak to Washington's family any more than he was required to. He was afraid that he might unintentionally reveal the truth about the nature of Washington and Hamilton's relationship. He was also afraid of revealing his own relationship with Hamilton as collateral damage.

Martha and Washington moved on to the next group of introductions. Once they were out of earshot, Hamilton turned to look at John.

"You should have come up with an excuse to avoid watching Jack." He whispered, frowning. "I know that I'm to blame - it was my responsibility to warn you. I was given the task of monitoring Jack during my first introduction to Martha. Lafayette was asked to do it after me. Do you know the scar on my arm?"

"Yes." John answered, his eyebrows furrowed.

"That is from Jack. He decided that we needed to have a sword fight while I was trying to pass out rations." Hamilton said.

"Oh." John watched as Jack returned Lafayette's saber with a sneer, then turned and said something to his wife. "Is it too late to decline Martha's request?"

"I'm afraid so." Hamilton sighed. "Come - I'll make your introduction."

John followed Hamilton across the grounds towards Jack. Lafayette noticed their approach and smiled in relief.

"Jack," Hamilton called out, forcing a smile. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Hamilton." Jack did not look pleased to see Hamilton. "How's your arm?"

Hamilton's smile became more strained.

"May I introduce, Mr. John Laurens." He said, gesturing towards John. "He'll be showing you around camp for the remainder of your visit."

"Laurens, huh?" Jack looked John over. "Like, Henry Laurens?"

"That would be my father." John replied.

"Huh." Jack considered this. "Your father is of considerable esteem in Philadelphia."

"Thank you, sir." John didn't know what else to say to Jack's observation.

"But he's not of more esteem than mine." Jack continued. "That means that I outrank you."

Hamilton and Lafayette exchanged looks while John raised an eyebrow at Jack.

"This is my wife." Jack pointed at the young woman who was standing behind him. She looked young, perhaps sixteen. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful. "Hamilton, did you see my wife?"

"I saw your wife, Jack." Hamilton said.

John could tell by the tone in his voice that he was getting annoyed.

"Well, what are you looking at my wife for?" Jack demanded. For some strange reason, he sounded angry. "Don't look at my wife. Nellie, were you looking at him?"

"Why shouldn't I look at him?" Nellie demanded.

Both Jack and Nellie's voices were rising to improper volumes. John looked over his shoulder nervously. Washington and Martha were looking at them with dismayed expressions. Washington started approaching them while Martha remained behind. Her face was apologetic but friendly while she spoke.

"Jack, you will lower your voice right now." Washington commanded as soon as he was within earshot. He towered over Jack, his expression furious. "Now someone, calmly explain to me what is going on here?"

"Hamilton was looking at my wife." Jack said hastily.

Hamilton opened his mouth, looking just as angry as Washington.

"George, what on earth is causing so much volume?" Martha appeared after Washington. As angry as Washington and Hamilton looked, Martha looked angrier still.

"Hamilton was looking at my wife, Mother!" Jack's voice became petulant.

John hated him. John rarely hated people, but he really hated Jack Washington. He hated the anger he'd caused to appear on Hamilton's face. He hated the entitled attitude Jack displayed. He hated that Jack was going to get Hamilton in trouble for sheer sport.

"George." Martha looked up at Washington as though he was responsible for the dilemma. "Do something."

Washington sighed heavily. "Hamilton, were you looking at Jack's wife?"

It was a ridiculous question for the man to ask. Washington, of all people, should have known that Hamilton had no interest in Jack's wife.

"He told me he was!" Jack contributed.

Hamilton rolled his tongue in his mouth, then looked up at Washington sullenly. It was the most disrespectful behavior John had ever seen Hamilton exhibit.

"He asked me if I noticed that his wife had accompanied him, sir. I told him that I had." Hamilton answered coldly.

"It was more than that. Go on, Hamilton. Tell him that it was more than that." Jack instructed.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I would prefer your indolent step son cease giving commands in your stead." Hamilton remarked.

"Hamilton!" Washington was too startled by Hamilton's insolence to be angry.

"What did you call me?" Jack demanded, his eyes moving to the saber on Lafayette's belt.

"George!" Martha hissed.

"That's it, Hamilton." Washington said, his temper flaring. "Report to General Lafayette's quarters. You're going on the field mission today. Some distance from camp may do you some good. Colonel Laurens, please escort my son and his wife to their quarters. Jack and Nellie, you have my most sincere apologies."

"Thank you." Jack nodded towards Washington.

John moved towards the quarters that had been allotted to Washington's family for their stay. Jack moved after him, taking special care to slam his shoulder into Hamilton's as he walked by. Nellie followed after him, rolling her eyes and glaring at everyone who dared look at her during their walk.

Once John showed Jack and Nellie to their quarters, he did not offer any further services. He did not even pause to answer their questions. He only told them that they had to excuse him, as he had a very busy day of work ahead of him. In all fairness, his day would be busy. Without Hamilton, he had triple the amount of work to do. He didn't know how Hamilton managed to do the work of two men every day without any signs of weariness.

* * *

John worked by himself for hours.

No one came to get John at dinnertime. John didn't mind. He would eat the food that Hamilton had recovered from town once Hamilton returned. He had heard a bit about the mission that the men were doing that day - they were burning some mill before the British had access to its resources. The mill was half a day away by horse. John had every reason to believe that Hamilton would return before midnight.

Then midnight came and went.

John continued to remain at work. The more he worked, the less energy he had to worry about Hamilton. Every few minutes, he would look up at the door, fully expecting to see Hamilton standing in the doorway. He knew that Hamilton would laugh at him for waiting up.

The door swung open. John rose from his seat, a relieved smile on his lips.

The smile evaporated when he saw Lafayette in the doorway instead of Hamilton. Something was wrong. There were tear streaks across Lafayette's dirt-smudged face. He seemed surprised to find John in the office.

"Mr. Laurens." He said. His voice lacked its usual jovial element. "I have come to retrieve a parchment and quill for the General."

"Oh." John looked around his desk for a blank parchment. "It's terribly late for the General to be corresponding, especially with his wife and children present. Is it something that I could pen for him?"

"This, Mr. Laurens, is a letter the General has insisted on writing himself." Lafayette replied, retrieving parchment and a quill from Hamilton's desk. "I fear I must be the first to tell you, Monsieur Hamilton did not survive our mission."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Lafayette stayed in the office area long enough to tell John what happened.

Burning the mill itself had gone very well. Hamilton had been the one to start the fire. He'd done it with ease, Lafayette said. He had learned such survival skills during his childhood. The fire had attracted the attention of passing British soldiers. They'd come running as Lafayette and his men were trying to climb into canoes to cross over the river separating the strip of land on which the camp was resting and the strip of land on which the mill had been. Hamilton had insisted on being the last one on shore - he pushed everyone else's canoes off of the bank. He'd promised them with that beautiful smile of his that he would be just fine getting his own canoe off of the bank. As he was pushing it, however, the British fell upon him. Bullets were everywhere. Hamilton dove into the water. Lafayette didn't know if he planned to get in the canoe once it was safe, or if he meant to swim to the canoes which were already miles away from the shore, halfway across the river from him. Whatever his plan was, it didn't work. He never broke the surface of the water again.

Lafayette then left John to grieve alone in the work space that he and Hamilton had created for themselves.

Fool that he was, John stayed in the office. He waited for Hamilton to return like a dog. He could not believe that Hamilton would have allowed himself to be killed by the British.

After another two hours passed, it began to grow clearer to John that Hamilton would not return. He would never return.

That's when the anger set in.

John acted on autopilot, marching through the door to Washington's quarters. There were guards standing outside of the door.

"The General would like to be alone." They told John.

"I don't care." John was disinclined to listen to what the General preferred in that moment.

Hamilton was dead because Washington chose to punish him for his own son's bad conduct. Washington did not get the luxury of solitude. He would not go without confronting his mistake.

John pushed his way through the door without confrontation. The guards were all bark and no bite. They wouldn't hurt someone who outranked them. On the other side of the door, Washington was sitting in the middle of the room on a worn loveseat. His shoulders were slumped. His hands were coupled together, hanging over his knees. He was staring ahead without acknowledging that he was seeing anything.

"You." John did not sound like himself. He sounded like a snarling animal.

Washington turned to look at John. His expression morphed from one of dissociation to one of anguish. He slowly rose to his feet.

"Colonel Laurens…" He started.

"_You_ killed him." John continued, moving forward.

Without thinking, he shoved Washington. He shoved General Washington. Washington was quite obviously surprised by the act. He stumbled backwards, his eyes widening a bit.

"You _knew_ that Hamilton didn't do anything wrong, but you sent him to his death anyway." John continued, his tone murderous. "Did you _want_ him to die? Did you tell Lafayette to leave him behind so you wouldn't have to worry about him telling your wife what you did to him? How you took advantage of him?"

"How dare you?" Washington's voice was quiet. It broke several times as he spoke. "I would _never_ want to...I loved Hamilton. I loved him more than I loved my own family."

"Yeah, right." John snorted. "He told me everything. He told me that you waited until you heard about his father and the things his father made him do, and then you used it to take advantage of him."

"I _never_ -!" Washington's face was one of disbelieving outrage. "I don't know what Hamilton convinced you of, but _he_ courted _me_. He loved me. He _told_ me that he loved me."

"You're lying!" John shouted, moving forward to push Washington again.

Washington was not frozen by shock this time. As John got closer to him, Washington grabbed him by the shoulders and held him still.

"Enough." He told John firmly. "Enough."

"No!" John struggled against his grasp. Washington's grip on his shoulders tightened in response. "You did it. You killed him. You killed him and now I -"

"I didn't, John." Washington's voice was no longer angry. It was thick. John realized dimly that it might be grief clogging Washington's throat. "I didn't kill him. He thought he was bulletproof. He _always_ thought that he was bulletproof."

Washington looked away, his mouth lips wobbling. His eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears.

The sight of him made John's anger morph into a wave of grief. The reality of Hamilton's death struck John like a hot iron.

"I'm sorry." Washington told John, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Washington broke down. He looked down, but kept his grip on John's shoulders while he cried. John swallowed hard and tried to look anywhere else. He did not want to cry in front of Washington. He didn't want to share his grief with him. He had shared enough with Washington.

It was clear to John, however, that Washington did love Hamilton. The heartless man that Hamilton portrayed him to be would not have shed a tear for a man he used and abused. Washington was weeping like a child, barely taking the time between tears to take in shuddering breaths. He was heartbroken.

John tried to wrench free of Washington's grasp. Washington didn't tighten his grip this time. Instead, his arms fell back to his side. He lifted his head, looking at John. John wished that he'd kept his head down. It was a strange thing to see such a strong man cry.

"I apologize for my impropriety, Colonel Laurens." Washington struggled to speak. His words wobbled as tears continued to stream down his face. "I understand if you need to be alone, but I...I just can't. I feel as though you're the only person who I can face."

It was a strange statement. It seemed to John that he should be the very last person that Washington was able to face following Hamilton's death.

"You're the only one who understands what it means to love Hamilton." Washington continued. He sank down onto the loveseat again, covering his eyes with his hand. "To have loved Hamilton, I should say."

John wanted to strangle him for accepting Hamilton's death so readily. Instead, he sat beside Washington on the loveseat. He didn't know what to say, so he sat there quietly while Washington cried. Miserable as it was to spend this time with Washington, it would have been more miserable to sit alone in his quarters. If he were alone, he would have time to think. He would have time to think about the fact that Lafayette and his men left Hamilton in the water. He would have time to think about Hamilton's body, probably floating along the river. He would have time to think about the fact that someone would likely find his body and would have no idea how loved the man had been. He would have time to think about the rest of his life, which he was certain to spend alone. He would have time to think about going to bed every night without feeling Hamilton's body beside his.

Washington was still crying. John was desperately trying to think of anything except for Hamilton.

The door creaked open. Washington didn't lift his head from his hands. John turned to look, desperate for something to distract him from thoughts of poor Hamilton.

John was startled to realize that it was Hamilton who had walked through the door.

Naturally, or maybe supernaturally, John's first thought was that it was a ghost.

"Sir." He turned around and nudged Washington. "_Sir_."

"Your Excellency," Hamilton - or ghost Hamilton - said. "I sincerely hope that Mr. Laurens has not reduced you to tears."

Washington turned around, staring at Hamilton in open-mouthed shock. John turned to look at Hamilton again, too. Hamilton's mouth curved into an amused grin. Any bite that may have been in his joke was destroyed by his disheveled appearance. He and his clothes were soaked. His jacket was dripping onto the floor. His hair was stuck to his face. It looked like he was shivering.

"Hamilton," Washington said his name like a prayer. "Is it…"

"You're dead." John said.

"Huh?" Hamilton seemed perplexed by this statement.

"Lafayette said you died." John's brows furrowed. He had spent hours convincing himself that Hamilton had died. He wondered if he was losing his mind.

"Have we lost our minds?" Washington asked, not looking away from Hamilton.

"No." Hamilton looked from John to Washington, appearing to be equally confused. "I just swam across the river. I was hoping that they would wait at the bank on the other side, or at least leave my horse there, but apparently, they thought I was dead."

"We may have lost our minds." John answered Washington's question faintly.

Hamilton let out an annoyed sigh.

"I'm not _dead_." He insisted. "Although, I am dead tired. Here."

He stomped across the room. His wet boots squelched with each step. He planted himself right in front of the loveseat on which John and Washington sat.

Washington reached out first. John watched him warily. He was afraid to reach out, himself. If this was a figment of his imagination, he didn't want to know it. He wanted to live in a world in which Hamilton existed more than he wanted his sanity.

Washington's hand made contact with Hamilton's arm. It did not pass through. Washington let out an awkward, rubbery noise that John had never heard before. He then leapt to his feet and pulled Hamilton into an embrace.

"I told you, they can't kill me." Hamilton mumbled into his shoulder, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Washington pulled away from the hug and laughed. He laughed so hard that fresh tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"You're alive." John allowed himself to smile. He stood up, waiting for Washington to back away from Hamilton to give him his turn.

Relief crushed over him, the emotion somehow more powerful than the grief he had felt just moments before. He, too, felt like crying. All of the nightmares that he had come up with, all of the solitary nights and loveless days, they were nothing more than what could have been. John had his lifetime with Hamilton returned to him.

"George." Martha entered the room, frowning. "What's all of this noise? What's - oh. Mr. Hamilton. I heard that you were presumed dead."

"I'm afraid the British have yet to capture me, Mrs. Washington." Hamilton responded, casting Martha a charming smile. He then returned his gaze to John.

"I apologize for the disruption, dear." Washington did not tear his eyes away from Hamilton. "Hamilton, why don't we move our conversation to a less disruptive part of camp? Perhaps your quarters? I need to debrief you on your experiences after you fell from the command of General Lafayette."

John looked from Washington to Hamilton with ill-disguised fear. He knew that Washington did not care about debriefing Hamilton over the journey he'd made. Washington didn't seem capable of doing anything work-related at present. There were still tears in his eyes. He was smiling at Hamilton, not even bothering to hide his adoration for the man.

"If it's all the same, General, I'd rather return to my quarters by myself. I'm terribly fatigued and am certain to make many mistakes if I am asked to work in my present condition." Hamilton said. He shivered while he spoke.

John tried to keep from smiling. Hamilton was turning Washington down. With Martha standing in the doorway, Washington could hardly protest.

"Oh." Washington visibly deflated. He took a step away from Hamilton, the smile fading from his face. In the candlelight, the tear stains on his face were easily seen.

Hamilton cleared his throat and looked around the room uncertainly. He was uncomfortable, John realized. John wondered if he had ever told Washington 'no' before.

"Of course." Washington's efforts at sounding as though he did not care did him a disservice. Now, he sounded as though he cared more than anyone else in the room. "Yes, you must be exhausted. Um, take the day off tomorrow. Colonel Laurens, you are welcomed to start work later than usual tomorrow morning, but I do expect you in the office by lunch."

"Yes, sir." John and Hamilton echoed.

Hamilton glanced at John. His blue-ish lips curved into a smile. John smiled back.

"Dismissed." Washington interrupted their moment with a gruff tone.

John suspected that the tone was being used to conceal any further tears which might have been forming in the General's eyes.

"Thank you, sir." Hamilton said.

He then turned around with a startling lack of grace, given Hamilton's typically graceful movements, and headed for the door. His boots continued to squelch with each step. John hurried after him, hoping that Hamilton would opt to stay with him for the night.

"May the lord take mercy on me, I'm freezing." Hamilton chattered once they were outside.

John's heart leapt when Hamilton walked past his own quarters. He kept pace with John, walking towards John's quarters. Despite his rejection of Washington's invitation to stay, Hamilton was choosing to stay with John.

They entered John's cabin. John let Hamilton hurry in before him, out of the cold. The sun was already beginning to rise behind them. It had been a long night.

John closed the door behind him. He then turned and saw Hamilton shedding his damp clothes. John hastily began to shed his own, ignoring the chill that hung in his quarters.

"John…" Hamilton didn't stop taking off his clothes, but the tone in his voice made John stop. "I, erm, I...I really just want to sleep."

John frowned. A sense of guilt flowed through him.

"No, yeah, I…" He couldn't pretend that he hadn't hoped for some sort of intimate act with Hamilton. It was hard not to hope for it; he thought that he would never get the chance again when everyone believed Hamilton to be dead. "Of course."

Hamilton smiled at John weakly. He then flopped into bed, letting out a groan of satisfaction. He cracked an eye open only long enough to see if John was still looking at him.

"Get in here." He grumbled, closing his eye and settling in underneath the covers. "I need your body heat."

John smiled as he climbed into bed beside Hamilton.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

John awoke to the sound of men's shouts the next morning. It wasn't the type of shouting which might suggest that something was wrong - it was the type of shouting that typically accompanied drills. John sat up and stretched. He let out a groan at the exertion of the effort. His body felt heavy. He hadn't slept very much the night before.

He looked over at Hamilton. It was one of the rare times in which Hamilton was asleep.

Hamilton looked remarkably peaceful when he was asleep. John had never seen Hamilton appear at peace before. He couldn't resist watching him for several minutes. He enjoyed the way that Hamilton's chest rose and fell with every breath. He liked the way that Hamilton's mouth would sometimes twitch in his sleep. He wondered how long Hamilton would sleep for.

Just as he was considering the likelihood of Hamilton waking up if he were to try to hold him, the door to the quarters swung open. Washington stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him just as swiftly as he'd entered.

John felt the color drain from his face as Washington took inventory of the situation. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. There was no sufficient explanation for why Hamilton was sleeping in his quarters. There was no sufficient explanation for why he and Hamilton were in the same cot. There was no sufficient explanation for why neither he, nor Hamilton were wearing shirts.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington said, his voice slow. "I came to remind you that while I afforded Colonel Hamilton the day to recover from last evening's exertions, I still require assistance from one of my aides today."

"Oh, o-of course. I-I'll be in your quarters right away, Your Excellency." John spluttered.

Washington nodded, his mouth set in a firm line. His eyes roved down to Hamilton's sleeping figure. He watched him for a moment, his expression stony.

"How…" After a moment, he spoke. He sounded hesitant. The thought of the General hesitating when speaking to one of his inferiors might have been laughable under any other circumstances. "How is he?"

"He seems to be doing well." John said awkwardly. "He slept through the night."

Washington quirked the smallest smile. His shoulders lifted and dropped in a quick, jerky fashion that suggested that he may have let out a chuckle.

"I don't suppose I have to tell you what a rarity that is for Hamilton." He remarked, his voice laced with affection.

John shifted uncomfortably. He disliked Washington's open acknowledgment of their shared attachment to Hamilton. It felt like the type of thing that one remained politely silent about.

After a few moments of silence, Washington cleared his throat.

"If you have quite recovered from last night, I would be grateful for your service." He said, his tone returning to that of a commander. "There is still much to do. The British care not whether Colonel Hamilton slept sufficiently."

"Yes, sir." John answered mildly.

Washington nodded, sparing Hamilton one last glance. He observed him just long enough for his expression to soften, then turned on his heel and exited John's quarters. The door swung shut behind him.

John looked down at Hamilton. Hamilton's eyes squinted shut more firmly than they had a moment ago. His lips curved downwards into a frown. He squirmed a bit.

"Alex?" John kept his voice low.

"Mmm?" Hamilton didn't open his eyes.

"I have to go to work now." John didn't know how much of his words Hamilton would actually retain. "I'll just be in the General's quarters."

"Mmm." Hamilton murmured sleepily.

"Okay." John couldn't help but smile.

Hamilton was hardly the dashing figure that he typically presented as. In this state, he was, John dared to think, _adorable_. He was more like a newborn pup than a war hero. John was more tempted to fawn over him than he was tempted to lust over him.

Careful not to make too much noise, John crawled out of the cot and reached for his uniform. He got dressed and tied his hair back with a ribbon. He glanced back at Hamilton as he started for the door. Hamilton had fallen right back to sleep. His chest was rising and falling with each gentle breath. John smiled as he walked out of the door.

* * *

Hamilton remained unseen throughout the day. Lafayette stopped by the General's quarters between drills and preparations to see if Hamilton had returned to work yet. He was more subdued than usual. John suspected that he felt obligated to apologize to Hamilton for the soured mission that had nearly killed him.

Washington, too, seemed unable to work without the knowledge that Hamilton was safely within his quarters. While seeing to his correspondence and his maps, he would poke his head out into the aides working space to see if Hamilton had yet arrived. While supervising drills and training the men, he would return every so often and make uncomfortable small talk with John while looking around. More than once, he had claimed to be visiting the outhouses, but John could see through the windows that he was walking in the direction of John's quarters.

Hamilton had still not roused himself by dinnertime. Everyone seemed to be looking at Washington as he sat beside his wife, silently eating while Martha and Jacky conversed around him. Washington's eyes never settled on either Martha or Jacky, not even when they attempted to attract his attention. Instead, he watched the general direction of John's quarters with the intensity of a hunting dog.

"Monsieur Laurens," Lafayette took a seat beside John. "Are you certain zat 'amilton is quite recovered? It is unlike him to be absent for a whole day. Ze last time he was sick, _le général_ had to lock him in his room to stop him from working."

John nodded, stirring his dinner with his spoon. It was a brackish soup, the ingredients of which no one seemed to know. John hadn't had much of an appetite before seeing what was being offered for dinner; seeing the soup had eradicated it altogether.

"The last time I spoke to him, he seemed well." John replied, careful to avoid mentioning that he had last seen Hamilton when he was crawling out of their shared bed.

He was fairly certain that Lafayette was aware of both his and Washington's affections for Hamilton. The knowing smiles, the raised eyebrows, and the innuendos were far too strategic for someone who believed only an intimate friendship existed between the men. However, Lafayette appeared to have enough tact to avoid discussing the circumstances so openly. Given Washington's deterioration of decorum in the past forty-eight hours, John was glad for Lafayette's tact.

Lafayette nodded, his lips pursed and his eyebrows knit. It was odd, seeing a typically jovial man behave so sullen.

"When you see him," He said. "Would you give him my apologies? I will, of course, render them myself when I do see him, but I fear it will not be for some time."

"I will." John agreed.

"_Bien_." Lafayette heroically attempted a small smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, Monsieur Laurens, I believe his excellency needs to be reminded of his guests."

John nodded while Lafayette rose to his feet and crossed the circle of eating soldiers to Washington. Washington finally tore his eyes away from the field which lay between him and John's quarters. He regarded Lafayette with the same stony expression that he seemed to regard everyone who was not Hamilton. It seemed to John as though Washington was incapable of emotion for anyone or anything other than Hamilton.

John handed his soup to a nearby foot soldier and rose to his feet. He wiped some dust from his trousers before starting for his quarters. He could feel Washington's eyes boring into his back as he neared the building where Hamilton lay sleeping.

He fought the urge to knock before opening the door. It was a strange urge - the quarters were his, after all - he was just afraid of disturbing Hamilton. After quelling this urge, John pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Hamilton was still lying in the cot. John's heart gave a nervous twitch in his chest. That Hamilton hadn't moved for an entire day made him uncomfortable. He wondered if perhaps he should have checked in on Hamilton throughout the day to make sure that the man was still breathing.

"Alex?" He inquired softly. He took a step forward. Apprehension gripped his chest.

"Oh, John." Hamilton sat straight up, so quickly that John nearly screamed. His voice was no longer rough and hoarse, as it had been the night before. He sounded like Hamilton. He turned a bit to look at John. His eyes burned bright as his mouth curved upwards into a smile.

He no longer looked like the newborn pup that John had compared him to hours ago. He was back to being Hamilton in his entirety.

"What…" John was at a loss for words.

"I may have acted as though I was resting whenever the General would stop by." Hamilton explained with a slight sheepishness. He kicked off the covers to reveal that, despite not wearing a shirt, he was wearing a new pair of breeches that hadn't been ruined by the previous day's mission.

John watched as Hamilton reached for a parchment and quill which were lying nearby. He thumbed the tip of the quill. When ink bled onto his finger, he gave a nod of satisfaction and began scratching the tip of the quill against the parchment.

"What are you…" John tried again to articulate his confusion with little success.

Hamilton looked over his shoulder at John. Despite the obvious impatience written across his features, John was acutely aware of Hamilton's devastating good looks. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"I am feeling rather disinclined to speak with the General more than is absolutely necessary during his son's residency at camp." Hamilton explained as though it was common sense. "And, since I was permitted to take this day to rest, I decided to put my time to good use. I've been writing essays on the economy and its sustainability, should the war end in the next year or so."

"I fear that you misunderstand the meaning of the word 'rest'." John couldn't help but smile.

He couldn't deny the sense of smugness he felt at Hamilton's unwillingness to reconcile with Washington. He had no competition for Hamilton's heart, this way. Better still, Washington knew that this wonderful, incredible man had chosen John, a man of no particular esteem, over him, the General to the entire Continental Army.

"I consider it rather relaxing." Hamilton remarked. He tapped the feather of his quill against his bottom lip, considering his words for a moment. He then looked over at John distractedly. "Why are you still standing there? Join me. Tell me what you accomplished without my assistance today."

John shed his jacket and toed off his shoes before sliding into the cot beside Hamilton. He took a minute just to appraise how remarkably handsome Hamilton was. It seemed incredible to him that the man lounging beside him nearly perished the day prior. It would have been an incredible waste of an incredible man.

"I doubt I answered more than two letters." John said, in answer to Hamilton's request. "I was too distracted by the thought of you lying here all day. Lucky for me, it appeared that General Washington was too distracted by the same thoughts."

"I'm sure that Mrs. Washington served as some comfort to him." Hamilton answered stiffly, his writing slowing down somewhat. "And, as it happens, I'm through with talking about General Washington any more than I must."

"All right." John agreed readily. "Tell me about the economy."

* * *

John was startled by Hamilton's resolve. When Hamilton stated his lack of interest in accommodating George Washington, John had expected him to stay away for one week at most.

Nearly a month later, and despite Washington's best efforts, Hamilton remained painstakingly businesslike in his dealings with Washington. He arrived to work at dawn and worked until lunch. At lunch, he would ask John to go for a walk with him. John always said yes. Together, they would munch on an apple, or some bread and cheese, while walking about the camp and talking about their plans once the war was over. Neither of them spoke of what might happen if they were to lose the war. After their walk, they would return to their cramped little office. Washington's door was always closed. At six, John would remind Hamilton that it was time for dinner. If Hamilton needed more time to work, John would remain with him. If he didn't, they would have their dinner and return to John's quarters. When Washington observed them leaving dinner together, he would watch with tight-lipped fury that only a sparse few could recognize.

On one such evening, Hamilton cast John a look that John knew to mean that he was ready to retire for the evening. John set down his bowl and looked around for the rag with which he washed his dishes. As he did so, he saw Washington rise to his feet from his peripheral vision.

"Gentlemen." Washington's voice was a controlled sort of loud, as always. He glanced in John and Hamilton's direction, but did not address them particularly. His expression remained stony. "It is my distinct pleasure to inform you that as of tomorrow, we are to begin packing up camp and moving to New Jersey. There, I will meet and discuss our next steps with members of the Continental Congress, as well as esteemed generals. It is also with great pleasure that I inform you that there is to be a ball upon our arrival. All officers are invited."

There were excited murmurs from the officers and grumbles of protest from the foot soldiers. John turned to Hamilton, his mouth curved into a smile. He expected Hamilton to look equally delighted, as the militia was drawing near to New York. To John's surprise, Hamilton did not look exceptionally pleased.

"I fear all of the excitement has only worn me further." Hamilton remarked once he noticed John's stare. He smiled pitifully. "Perhaps I will feel more excitement tomorrow."

John nodded, rising to his feet along with Hamilton. As he started for his quarters after Hamilton, he noticed Lafayette casting him a strange look from where he was seated. He met the look with a curious expression of his own. Lafayette just shook his head and returned to Washington's side.

"I am looking forward to seeing you in your dress uniform at the ball." Hamilton remarked once they were out of earshot of the rest of the camp. He walked closer to John's side. Their hands brushed against one another. They didn't risk any further displays of affection, for it was impossible to tell who might be lurking among the quarters.

John smiled to himself, hoping that he did not look too ridiculous.

"And I look forward to seeing yours." He said.

He wasn't as good with words as Hamilton was. He found that he didn't mind, so long as it didn't bother Hamilton.

"And I feel that we'll both enjoy the food of genteel people. The General will likely remind us, though, that we mustn't disturb our delicate company with tales of horse meat suppers." Hamilton remarked as they entered John's quarters. "He's always warning us against talking about the unpleasant trademarks of war."

"Does he hope to applaud the war as a romantic notion?" John wondered, unable to help smiling at the very notion.

"No." Hamilton responded, removing his shirt as he spoke. It muffled his words somewhat. "He doesn't want members of the public - or, more importantly, members of Congress - to think us barbarians. He would much prefer them believe that we dine each evening on salted pork and green beans like civilized people than have them see the depravity that we have sunk into."

"But wouldn't Congress feel more inclined to lend more aid if they knew the lengths to which we suffer?" John couldn't help but ask.

"Congress is not sending us more money, regardless of any further hardship we might endure." Hamilton rolled his eyes at the very idea. "You've seen their letters. All we can hope, now, is that they respect us enough to tender the salaries that we were promised at the start of the war. Appearing civilized will assist us in that cause."

John knew that Hamilton was right; it made a convoluted sort of sense which could only appeal to the mind of a politician. He disliked, however, that Hamilton and Washington agreed upon this. Regardless of it being the correct course of action, John did not want Hamilton and Washington to agree upon a single thing. He did not want any common ground to exist between them any longer.

Hamilton was teaching John that he was the jealous sort of lover.

"How much did the Continental Army agree to pay aids? I don't believe I've ever seen the numbers quoted." Talking about money was improper to the highest degree, but John knew that Hamilton wouldn't mind. Hamilton seemed incapable of talking about anything other than money.

"I'm not sure." Hamilton responded, grabbing a book that he'd been mulling over for weeks. He climbed onto the cot, not waiting to see if John would follow in after him.

"How can you not be sure?" John wondered, following Hamilton onto the cot.

He would have followed Hamilton into the depths of hell if Hamilton would have only asked.

"You're not sure, are you?" Hamilton reminded John. He opened the book, immediately distracting himself from the burden of reality. "Besides, I told General Washington when he hired me that I would not be accepting any salary afforded to me by Congress. I'd rather they spend the money on munitions or food for the other soldiers."

"Oh." John felt silly for not doing the same with his own salary.

They were both silent for a moment. John watched Hamilton silently, wondering if it was judgment that he saw flashing across Hamilton's fine features. Hamilton read his book, not allowing John the comfort of his words.

"Why are you watching me?" Hamilton asked, at last. He closed his book and turned to look at John.

John felt his face redden.

"Do you think I ought to tell the General that I would like to do the same with my own salary?" He asked.

"What? Why?" Hamilton didn't seem to understand why such a thought would cross John's mind.

"Well, because you and the General are both refusing to accept salaries…" John immediately regretted including Washington in the same category with Hamilton, no matter the reason.

"John." Hamilton set his book on the side table and cast John a critical expression that came all too naturally to his sharp features. "Your father has given more to the cause than the General and I's salaries combined. Your family has paid its debts to freedom. That you are here, with me, serving as you are needed, is sufficient."

"Would you have said that to me when you first met me?" John couldn't resist asking. "When you thought that I was a spoiled boy who only got appointments through his father's connections?"

"You _are_ a spoiled boy who only got this particular appointment because of your father's connections." Hamilton said, his voice laced with affection despite the sting of his words. "But you're doing a fine job and you're helping the cause. Don't tear yourself to pieces over semantics."

John frowned. He disliked Hamilton calling him spoiled.

"Don't pout." Hamilton chuckled, leaning closer to John.

He buried his face in John's neck. John felt goosebumps erupt across his skin.

"I love that you're spoiled." Hamilton murmured into the side of his neck. "And I love that wrinkle over your nose when you pout like that. And I love the way you jump when I kiss you here."

John felt Hamilton's lips brush against the patch of skin where his ear met his neck and nearly jumped out of the cot.

"I love you, John." Hamilton murmured.

"I love you, too." John whispered, his voice impossibly loud against the quiet of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"General Lafayette, you stay towards the back to keep watch." Washington sat atop his white horse - a cliche if there ever was one - doling out instructions. "General Lee, flank the sides. Colonel Laurens, assist General Lee in maintaining the ranks. Colonel Hamilton, hang behind me and ensure that everyone falls into line. Bring any discrepancies to my attention. Are you clear on instructions, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir." All of the men chorused in unison.

John reined in his horse as the footsoldiers surged forward, following Washington and Hamilton as they started into the woods. He cast Charles Lee a sideways glance. Lee hadn't been much of a leader in the few opportunities that John had had to observe him. He wondered if Washington had intentionally forced John to be this man's subordinate as a punishment for Hamilton's open favoritism.

As Lee and John both began to move, lingering in the middle of the pack, neither man said a word to one another. Lee seemed altogether disinterested in conversation. Behind them, John could hear Lafayette carrying on a pleasant conversation with the footsoldiers near him. Up ahead, John could see that Hamilton was talking to one of the few calvarymen left. Washington didn't turn to acknowledge Hamilton. John was certain that he soon would. He knew that Washington had placed Hamilton near him and away from John on purpose.

Washington forced the men to continue moving throughout the day. There was no stop for an afternoon meal. There were grumblings towards the back of the group, but no one near Washington dared complain. All of the men seemed to fear him more than they admired him. John resisted the urge to wonder if Washington had studied Machievelli aloud, only because he wasn't sure what feelings Lee had towards Washington.

As night fell around them, John shifted in his saddle uncomfortably. His horse tossed its head and frequently made noises of complaint. It had stopped to graze more than a few times during the journey, but John had forced the beast to walk on. He feared that if Washington witnessed his horse exhibiting any sort of laziness, the man would shoot the animal and carry on.

Just as John was beginning to think of tactful ways to suggest that the men might need rest, a bullet went whistling by.

There were shouts and jostling from the men. More than a few of them ran into John's horse in a bid to get away from the shower of bullets which seemed to be coming from every which direction.

"Men!" John heard Washington shout from the front of the procession. "Do _not_ fall into line. Grab your weapons and take cover where you may find it. General Lee, General Lafayette, aid the men as best you can!"

Washington had invited chaos. John didn't know which way to go as men scattered around him. He looked around for some sort of guidance - guidance from Lee, guidance from Lafayette, guidance from _anyone_.

He couldn't find Lafayette. Lee had vanished, too. John looked around hopelessly, too afraid to take his eyes off of the proceedings to grab his saber. In his bid to find someone to anchor himself to, John saw Hamilton riding towards the bullets.

"Alex!" Without thinking, John spurred his horse on to follow Hamilton.

Before he got very far, his horse let out a terrible scream and tumbled down. John felt pain ripple through his body as he opened his eyes. Bullets were still flying. A few feet away, the blank eyes of a dead drummer boy were looking back at him. He scrambled upward, looking around. He didn't see Hamilton anymore. The smell of hot blood and gunpowder filled his nose.

"Alex." He struggled to his feet and stumbled in the direction that Hamilton had disappeared.

"Laurens, get _down_." Something grabbed the back of his coat and sent him sprawling onto the ground. For a moment, John seemed unable to open his eyes. He wondered fleetingly if he was dead. He felt an odd calm.

When he did open his eyes, he saw Washington hunched over him, a pistol in hand. He looked down at John, his sharp features appearing all the more intense when fueled by adrenaline.

"Take my horse." He commanded. "There's a small town thirteen miles Northwest of here just outside of New Jersey. Bring as many men as you can to that town. If you find Lee or Lafayette, tell them the same. If I don't meet you there by the end of the night, get to New Jersey and tell Congress of my misfortune. They'll replace me with General Gates. Lafayette can acquaint him with my materials."

"Sir -" John protested.

"_Go_." Washington all but dragged John to a bramble patch which concealed them somewhat. John could make out the figure of Washington's white horse in the dark.

John looked back at Washington uncertainly. Washington nodded. John struggled to his feet yet again, flinching every time he heard the sound of gunfire. He reached for the horse's reins, then grappled for the saddle. The horse was so much taller than any horse John had rode before. The confusion of the night did not help matters.

Washington rose to his feet and all but threw John onto the saddle.

"His name is Nelson." Washington told him immediately before striking the horse's hindquarters and making a clicking noise with his mouth.

The horse - Nelson - surged forward. John fumbled for the reins as he tried to orient himself in the saddle. This was not a horse like any he'd ridden before - it was faster and stronger and much, much harder to control. The sound of gunshots very quickly grew to be a distant noise as John and Nelson plunged into the darkness of the woods.

After riding for a few miles - or it may have been quite a lot; John had no real way of measuring the horse's strides - he reached a clearing. In the clearing was a smattering of men that John vaguely recognized as his fellow soldiers. A number of them lay moaning on the ground. John recognized Lafayette's horse a few feet away. He nudged Nelson, but immediately regretted it. The horse leapt forward. It was all John could do to rein him in before he plowed over Lafayette and his horse.

"_Monsieur_...Laurens?" Lafayette inquired, his voice lifting an octave in his confusion. "Where is…"

He didn't seem to be able to say Washington's name.

John shook his head. "I don't know. He told me to take his horse and tell anyone I could find to find a town thirteen miles Northwest of here - it's just outside of New Jersey."

John didn't mention the part about a replacement general. He didn't want Lafayette to know how certain Washington's death was. He didn't want any of the men to know that the war had already been lost.

Lafayette nodded, his face taking on a stony element that resembled Washington's. He pulled his horse into action, riding around the men and shouting commands. Soldiers sprang into action, piling the wounded but recoverable men on the backs of any horses they could find. The men who were fatally wounded were left moaning on the ground.

Lafayette drew his horse near John.

"I will lead these men to ze town and collect every man I find along ze way." He said. "You must find any other survivors and instruct zem to join us." He said.

It was odd, hearing Lafayette give commands. It was appropriate, of course - Lafayette quite clearly outranked him - but Lafayette rarely presented himself as a source of authority around camp.

John nodded. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would be tempted to call Lafayette "sir".

Lafayette and the men started for the town. Lafayette kept his horse moving at a slow trot to allow the men to follow him in their current condition. John watched them go, wishing very much that he was going with them.

For the next hour, he struggled to control Nelson while seeking out any survivors. He found General Lee pinned underneath a dead horse. He found a handful of men who may have been deserting. He did not find either Hamilton or Washington. He refused to let himself think about that.

As the sun rose in the sky, John, Lee, and the few men they had accumulated between them staggered into town. They met Lafayette and his men at a local tavern. A large number of the men had been drinking all night.

Lafayette regarded John and the rest of the men with grim acceptance. John did the same.

Washington wasn't in the tavern with the men. Neither was Hamilton.

One was typically presumed dead when they disappeared after a skirmish.

"Have you heard from General Washington?" Lee asked Lafayette, his tone taking on an air of authority that John had not heard him use before.

"Not yet, no." Lafayette seemed unwilling to give this answer.

"Not yet, _sir._" Lee corrected him severely. "In General Washington's absence, I am your commanding officer."

"Sir." Lafayette said, his voice and expression conveying his unwillingness to yield to this man.

Lee nodded to himself, the corner of his mouth curving into a slight smirk. He was enjoying this taste of power, John could plainly see that. If Hamilton had been present, he might have said something about Lee's inadequacy in connection with his considerable position.

But Hamilton wasn't there.

Hamilton was missing. Once again, John was faced with the gut-wrenching reality of presuming him dead. This time, Washington was not around to distract John from his grief. John could not do anything but dwell. He could dwell on the fact that Washington and Hamilton may have died together. He pictured the thought of them, Hamilton lying in Washington's arms as their eyes dimmed and their skin paled. Hamilton and Washington exchanging last words that no one else would ever know.

"General Lafayette, find lodging for the men. Commandeer local homes and any rooms the innkeeper may have. I must prepare for my speech to Congress." Lee remarked, his face still contorted into that terribly vain, terribly proud expression.

"General Lee...General Washington has not yet been missing for a day." Lafayette reminded Lee hesitantly. "To assume his death so prematurely is considered treasonous."

Lee's eyes narrowed.

"I believe I gave an order, General Lafayette." He growled.

Lafayette stuck his chin out stubbornly. He was disobeying orders. John's heart gave a nervous twinge. He was relieved that Lafayette was not submitting to Lee's command, but he was nervous about the consequences that such behavior could bring. Treason during the war meant death.

"Very well." Lee said after a few seconds of silence passed between them.

He turned to look at John. John realized that, between his family name and his proximity to Washington, he was the next highest ranking officer in the inn.

"Colonel Laurens. You are to find a place of lodging for your fellow men. You are then to return here and retrieve General Lafayette, who will be held in a separate room until I am vested with the appropriate authority to deal with treason as I see fit." Lee instructed.

"I…" John felt his mouth go dry. His face burned as he felt everyone look at him. Even the innkeeper was looking at him. It seemed impossible to think under such circumstances.

"No." He said, less than eloquently.

"No?" Lee echoed incredulously.

John stared back at him. He wanted to be brave, like everyone else. He wanted to be brave, the way that Hamilton and Washington had been when they charged in the direction of the soldiers firing at them. He wanted to be brave the way that Lafayette had been in denying Lee's command in the first place.

Unfortunately, John was beginning to fear that he was not very brave, after all.

"Very well." General Lee unsheathed his saber.

The sound of the metal scraping against its cover caused an involuntary chill to erupt down John's spine. All of the men made low murmuring noises that were meant to convey their discomfort. Lee looked first to Lafayette. John noticed that Lafayette's own saber was missing from his belt. He was unarmed.

"It appears that I have a mutiny upon me." Lee began to move closer to Lafayette. Lafayette's expression did not change from one of stony resolve. "Congress will pardon me for taking the liberties necessary to quell such an insurrection."

John's throat clogged up. His eyes burned. He desperately wanted to say something to intervene, but could not bring himself to act. He was prematurely wracked with guilt for allowing one of his only friends to be murdered out of pure cowardice.

"General Lee," Washington's voice, commanding as ever, broke through the tension of the moment.

Lee's steps halted immediately. John turned to look in Washington's direction, relief flooding over him. Hamilton was at Washington's side. He was bleeding in several areas. Most notable was a patch of frayed flesh just a few inches above his eye. John's attention was quickly drawn from the blood, however, by the fact that Hamilton was pointing a pistol directly at Lee. His face had taken on an element that John had never seen before. The Hamilton whom he knew and loved was not a violent man; he was a man of education and principles. This Hamilton was murderous.

"You must forgive me, for I believe I must be misinterpreting the situation which I have found myself in. It appears that you are threatening an unarmed officer with deadly force in the absence of approval from either myself or Congress." Washington's hands were folded behind his back as he walked towards Lee, his posture straight and his expression calm.

John realized that Washington was bleeding, too. Badly, from the looks of it. Blood had seeped through both his shirt and his jacket. His jacket was made of a thick wool. It was impossible to conceive that Washington was even standing after so much blood loss.

Lee's eyes flicked between Washington and Hamilton. With some reluctance, he returned his saber to its sheath. John let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. His shoulders dropped from his ears to their normal status just below his neck. He couldn't be certain how they had become so hunched over without his consent.

"Your Excellency," Lee said without the slightest touch of humility. "General Lafayette and Colonel Laurens had disobeyed my orders. I believe that it is protocol for the highest ranking officer to distribute punishment as they see fit. That appeared to be your methodology in the French and Indian War, was it not?"

Washington's face twitched ever so slightly. The French and Indian War was a topic that everyone knew to avoid in Washington's presence.

"Thank you for your diligence, General Lee." Washington replied coolly. His face had resumed its calm expression almost immediately. "I will reassume my command now. General Lafayette, please find sufficient housing and resources for the men with the consent of the residents. Colonel Laurens, locate the nearest physician."

As Lafayette moved to talk to the innkeeper, John heard a rather substantial thud. It had come from the direction of the inn's entrance. When he turned to look, he saw that Hamilton was no longer pointing a pistol at Lee. His hand had dropped to his side. With it, his posture had crumpled. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe. Washington had already moved to assist him.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington turned to look at John, frowning. "The physician."

John nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hurried past Hamilton and Washington, out of the inn and towards the stables. Nelson was in one of the stalls, being brushed down by a local boy too young to serve in the militia. John hurried past that stall. He did not want to ever ride on that beast again.

Instead, he selected Lee's prized horse. In part, he did so with the smug intention of offending Lee. Mostly, though, he selected an animal he trusted not to be worn out, nor overwhelmingly powerful.

He did not bother properly saddling the horse. Instead, he slipped a bridle over its head and removed it from the stall. As he passed Nelson's stall, he thumped the door to attract the stableboy's attention.

"Where is the nearest physician?" He demanded.

"Up the hill, sir." The boy answered, not taking his eyes off of Nelson. "The white house with the broken shutters."

* * *

There were no horses left in town. Because there were no horses left in town, John had to surrender Lee's horse to the physician while he walked back to the inn. It was a long, cold walk down the hill in the winter. He found a few stragglers from the skirmish who were still finding their way to the inn. He assisted them as best he could.

When he reached the inn, he found that it had quite cleared. The men for whom Lafayette had found lodging were recovering from the excitement of the skirmish. Lafayette was sitting by himself at a table, quietly talking with the innkeeper. He did not smile when John approached them.

"_Monsieur_ Laurens, this fine gentlemen has set aside a room for you upstairs." He said.

"Thank you, sir." John hastened to say. He nodded toward the innkeeper, then looked at Lafayette again. "There are men still arriving from the skirmish. A few of them accompanied me upon my return."

"I have observed." Lafayette said. "Some of zem will have to sleep in ze stables."

John nodded. He didn't really care where a few men slept for the evening.

"Did the physician arrive?" He asked.

"Yes." Lafayette said grimly. "He is tending to ze General."

"And Hamilton?" John took a seat at the table. "He appeared to be wounded when I left."

Lafayette's expression sank somewhat.

"Ze physician was required by law to attend to ze General's wounds first." He answered. "Zere was nothing ze General could do to dissuade him."

"Is he…" John glanced at the innkeeper. He did not want to appear indiscreet so publicly.

"He is upstairs. I am certain zat he would appreciate ze company of a friend in zis trying time." Lafayette replied.

"Thank you. Please, excuse me." John pushed the chair back fast enough to cause a terrible scraping sound. He ignored the innkeeper's glare as he hurried for the narrow stairs. They creaked and groaned with each step.

Once upstairs, John realized that it was nearly impossible to know which room Hamilton was in. All of the doors were shut. John stood at the first door in the line of doors, considering the merits of opening the door. He considered what he might find by doing so.

Luckily, this act was unnecessary. After a few short seconds, John heard the sound of Washington's stern voice, along with the argumentative sound of Hamilton voice. They were arguing. Judging from the volume of Washington's voice, it was not so severe an argument that his presence would be unwelcome.

"Hamilton, let the physician do what he must to assist you and be done with it." Washington ordered as John cracked the door open.

Hamilton's eyes shifted from Washington to John as John entered the room. He no longer appeared murderous. John was glad of it. He wasn't altogether sure that he liked the side of Hamilton that he had witnessed.

While Hamilton appeared to have calmed down, Washington seemed to have gone in the opposite direction. He was frowning down at Hamilton - who was laid in bed - from a chair sat at the bedside. Though he was wearing breeches, his bloodstained shirt and jacket were thrown over the back of the chair. A bandage covered the injury he'd sustained on his abdomen.

"Oh, hello, John. Would you please tell the General about the book that I described to you fourteen days ago? The one which stated that intentional bleeding is a controversial and potentially harmful medical procedure?" Hamilton sounded like his usual self. He looked at John from the bed, the hint of a smile on his lips.

John might have laughed, if he weren't staring at an untreated bullet wound in Hamilton's leg.

"Your Excellency, if the man refuses my care, there is nothing I can do for him." The physician remarked meekly.

"Hamilton, I will hold you down if you do not submit to this man's care." Washington threatened.

"Does not that violate the hippocratic oath?" Hamilton turned to look at the physician, his eyes dancing. Despite suffering from what appeared to be a rather serious wound, he was enjoying himself. "You cannot treat a patient who refuses your procedure."

"He is right, Your Excellency." The physician couldn't bring himself to meet Washington's eyes.

"I considered studying medicine during my education." Hamilton told the poor physician. "I thought better of it, once I realized that doctors are typically the first shot at in battle."

"_Enough_." Washington was losing patience. "Hamilton, do you want to die?"

"I don't suppose that I want to, but I recognize that, like every other man, it is my prophecy." Hamilton remained infuriatingly stubborn.

"How important is that oath to you?" Washington asked the physician. The physician looked up at him in a combination of surprise and horror.

"If you die now, you will have died without accomplishing anything." John reminded Hamilton from the doorway. "Do you want your legacy to be serving as an aide to the General at a time before the war was even won?"

Hamilton considered these words, his smile evaporating. He looked at the physician with a comical amount of petulance. He then looked back at John.

"Bring me that book. It's in my saddlebag." He said, nodding to the saddlebag which lay in the corner of the room. "If I am to be subjected to this barbaric treatment, I would like to read that passage aloud to better inform the physician and Your Excellency for future events."

"Fine, Hamilton." Washington nearly smiled at the strange compromise. "That's fine."

John fished the book out of the saddle bag and handed it to Hamilton. As the physician set to work making an incision just above the bullet wound, Hamilton began reading. John was certain that he would never love another the way he loved this ridiculous man.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Despite Hamilton's objections to the treatment of his leg, it healed up rather nicely. Though he could not yet walk without favoring his left leg, he was able to attend the ball the evening after Washington's report to the Continental Congress.

He looked fantastically handsome in his dress uniform. He was made all the more appealing by the fact that John had had to suffer through two long nights of sleeping in a separate room from Hamilton. Lafayette had assigned them separate rooms when delegating, and with so many other men lingering in the hallway, they could not risk any indiscrete conduct.

The officers, led by Washington, had ridden to the estate of one Mr. Morris for the ball. The gravel path leading to the mansion was already littered with carriages and groups of people excitedly chattering. John could feel their stares as they drew near.

"Remember, gentlemen." Washington said for the umpteenth time. "I expect you all to behave with the utmost politeness and civility."

"Yes, sir." They all agreed.

They dismounted their horses and allowed the boys tending the stables to take the horses to be cared for. Washington led them into the mansion. John had to squint upon entry. He'd grown so accustomed to living in quarters that he'd quite forgotten how bright residences could be, especially during a party.

"General Washington." The host, presumably Mr. Morris, greeted Washington immediately. "Thank you for honoring my guests with your presence."

"Thank you for extending a most appreciated offer of hospitality." Washington answered with a politeness that could have appealed to just about anyone.

"I have heard that you are very good at cards." Mr. Morris continued. "Would you do me the honor of joining me in a game?"

"It would be a pleasure." Washington agreed amicably.

The two men disappeared, leaving John, Hamilton, Lafayette, and Lee standing among themselves.

"Colonel Hamilton!" One young woman in a group of giggling ladies called out to Hamilton, waving at him. "Colonel Hamilton, you must join us!"

Hamilton grinned in their direction. It was clear that he knew at least a few of the ladies. He turned to look at John and Lafayette.

"Excuse me." He said.

There was no question or apology in his statement. He crossed the room to join the ladies without a moment's hesitation. John wished that he had been invited to go along with him.

John turned to look at Lafayette. He realized, without much disappointment, that Lee had wandered off at the same time as Hamilton. He was speaking to a wealthy widow that John vaguely recognized from the social circuits prior to the war.

"If you'll forgive me, Monsieur Laurens, I see many women with whom I have not had ze pleasure of a dance." Lafayette remarked, separating himself from John just as quickly as the rest.

John found himself alone, like every other ball he had attended. He had hoped that this ball would be different. He had a date, of sorts. Or, at least, he thought he had. Now that he was bearing witness to Hamilton laughing and flirting with a group of no less than ten women, he was not so sure.

"For soldiers, your friends are not very loyal, are they Colonel Laurens?" A young woman that John could not have mistaken rescued him from appearing unsocial. She had approached him while he was staring at Hamilton, it seemed. She was looking at him with a sort of pleasant amusement that only few could manage.

"Ms. Manning." John smiled politely as he bowed before her.

Martha Manning, whom John had begun to call "Marty" in his youth, was the daughter of one of his father's friends. He had danced with her at nearly every ball he had attended before the war purely to humor his father. She was not an unpleasant girl, but she was not Hamilton.

"The uniform suits you." Marty said, regarding John's attire with a benevolent smile.

"I daresay it suits me more than I suit it." John replied, looking around the ballroom as an excuse to look at Hamilton again. He was still making the group of ladies laugh.

"Is that so? I feel as though my father and brother have talked of little else than your heroism. After all, serving directly under the general must give you some opportunity for bravery." Marty remarked.

"I am afforded plenty of opportunity." John conceded grimly. "I fear that I have not risen to the occasion as well as I ought have."

"Come now, why don't we have a seat and you can tell me about your experiences?" Marty suggested, guiding John toward a table across the room from Hamilton.

John glanced in Hamilton's direction as he allowed himself to be led away, hoping that Hamilton would notice that John had attracted someone's attention, too. He didn't. He kept on laughing and telling jokes that John had never heard him tell.

"Do you eat well at camp?" Marty asked as they took a seat at a deserted table. "You seem thinner than you were when you left."

"Oh, yes. Salted pork and green beans." John answered distractedly.

"My, my. I will have to tell Father that Congress is positively spoiling you all." Marty teased. "Now, tell me about fighting with the British. Is it frightening?"

"It is." John could not put on the same heroic airs as Washington or Hamilton. "Sometimes I fear that my heart will fail from the fear of it all."

Marty let out a laugh. This in itself was not unusual - John was plenty used to ladies laughing at things that he said - but the tone of it was unusual. She was not laughing at him. She was laughing as though he had intended for his statement to be a joke that she was in on.

"Colonel Laurens, I believe that you are the first soldier to be forthcoming about being afraid." She said, still laughing. It was a pleasant enough sound. "These other ridiculous men swagger about and boast about how they enjoy being shot at. I cannot understand why any woman should be impressed by a man who _wants_ to be shot at!"

"Perhaps women want a man they trust to be brave enough to protect them." John suggested.

He knew that he never felt so safe as when he was with Hamilton.

"I would rather have a man intelligent enough to know where to hide in the face of danger than one who would willingly rush to his death." Marty remarked.

"I believe you are most unusual in your preference." John told her.

"I believe both of us are unusual in many ways." Marty replied.

John just smiled.

* * *

John spent a majority of the evening by Marty's side. It was not so much out of any particular affection he felt for her; she simply dictated his movements throughout the evening. When dessert was served, she shooed away the man who was supposed to be seated beside her and commanded John to join her so that he might tell her more about his military experiences, such that they were. After dessert, she appeared to be the only lady who was very interested in dancing with him. When he was tired of dancing, she requested that he retire to a table with her.

John hoped that Hamilton would rejoin him at some point during the evening, but he did not. At dessert, he sat at Washington's side, watching dutifully as Washington commanded the attention of every man at the table. John begrudgingly accepted that Washington presented himself very well at social events.

While John was dancing with Marty, Hamilton had been invited to play cards with Washington and Mr. Morris. John could not see what was happening in the drawing room while the men played cards. He imagined that it was a sight more interesting than dancing with Marty.

As the evening drew on, the men eventually exited the drawing room. Hamilton's attention was immediately sought out by every eligible young lady other than Marty, it seemed. Though men were supposed to ask ladies to dance, it did not appear to John that Hamilton had asked any of the young women trading places in his arms. They merely appeared, one by one, at the end of each reel, accepted by Hamilton with all the charm and grace of a prince. His dancing was less graceful than it might have been without the bullet wound in his leg.

John took some comfort in the way that Washington observed Hamilton during these dances. Though his face remained neutral as he shifted his glances in Hamilton's direction every so often, John saw the sharpness in his eyes. He disliked Hamilton's obvious popularity with the female persuasion just as much as John did.

At the end of the evening, the stable boy brought around the horses. John said goodbye to Marty. Hamilton took nearly ten minutes saying goodbye to every other woman at the party - married, and unmarried alike. Once the proper goodbyes were said, the men all mounted their respective horses before following Washington's lead back to the temporary quarters they'd established in the area.

Hamilton remained close to Washington. Despite John's best efforts to catch his eye, Hamilton watched Washington with an attentiveness that John hadn't seen him devote to many others. John looked around, wondering if anyone else noticed the abnormal staring. Lafayette was too intoxicated to notice much of anything. Lee was looking around. He had distanced himself from fellow officers since his confrontation with Lafayette in the inn.

When they arrived at the inn, each man set to work untacking their horses. Washington was through with his horse first, but had to assist Lafayette, who was too impaired to do much of anything on his own.

"Will you come to my room tonight?" John asked Hamilton in a low voice. "The rest of the men are likely still asleep. If we wake early enough in the morning, you should be able to set to work in Washington's quarters before attracting any attention."

It was unusual for John to proposition Hamilton. Usually, Hamilton was the instigator. John had never had to request his company overnight before.

Even more extraordinary, Hamilton shook his head. He was rejecting John's advance.

"I think that I had better…" He looked over his shoulder in Washington's direction.

John's mouth fell open as he followed Hamilton's gaze.

"Hamilton." Washington turned to look at Hamilton after Lafayette's horse had been sorted. His expression was stony, as usual, but John noticed a heat in his eyes that did not typically exist. "I expect you in my quarters to discuss this month's budget report within the hour."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton returned his attention to Washington without hesitation.

John felt his heart sink in his chest as he looked from Washington to Hamilton. He could not conceal the heartbreak he was sure was evident on his face.

Washington nodded, walking off in the direction of his quarters. Hamilton did not wait even one full minute before scampering after him. He did not look at John at all during that almost-minute. It was as though he had forgotten that John existed altogether.

"Do not worry, _Monsieur_ Laurens." Lafayette said, his voice slurred and far too loud in his drunken state. He draped his arm over John's shoulder as they walked towards the inn together. It was in the opposite direction of the stately home which had become Washington's quarters in the days they spent in town.

"This always 'appens." Lafayette continued as John struggled to get him through the door of the inn. "At parties, 'amilton is ze belle of ze ball and _le général_ is ze man of ze hour. When zey notice one another it is…'ow you say, a moss to a flame?"

"I would implore you to stop talking." John commanded Lafayette through gritted teeth. People were beginning to look at them, frowning at Lafayette's debauched state. "I believe that you have quite taken leave of your sensibilities."

"No one could keep zem from each other after a party." Lafayette continued on as though John hadn't said anything at all. He left out a grunt as John attempted to push him up the stairs. "It is no shortfall of yours, _Monsieur_ Laurens. I am certain zat _Monsieur_ 'amilton's feelings have not diminished."

"This is your room." John opened the door to Lafayette's room and pushed Lafayette in. He wasn't too gentle. "I recommend that you use what remains of this evening to sober up before you speak so freely."

"Goodnight, _Monsieur Laurens_!" Lafayette called as John shut the door to his room.

John's lips began to wobble as he walked back to his own room. He passed Hamilton's room on his way. It was the first time he'd passed the room without seeing the flickering of candlelight through the gap at the bottom of the door. The darkness served to remind him of Hamilton's absence in the inn. It reminded him that instead, Hamilton was with Washington. Hamilton had chose Washington over him in front of everyone. He had made his choice without needing so much as a second to consider.

He locked himself away in his room and allowed the tears he'd been suppressing all evening to fall free. He didn't realize that his sobs lasted through what remained of the night until he saw the sun peeking through the raggedy inn curtains.

* * *

Hamilton was in Washington's quarters, already working, when John arrived. Hamilton did not so much as glance up from his parchment as John crossed the room to his desk. John was partially relieved by this. He was not certain that he was strong enough to meet Hamilton's eyes at the moment.

As John moved to take a seat at his desk, he realized that his inkpot had been knocked onto the floor at some point during the evening. The floorboards beneath his feet were stained with black ink splatters. The pot had shattered.

"What happened to my ink?" John could not resist asking. He looked to Hamilton for an answer.

"What? Oh." Hamilton turned to look at John, as though he was surprised to find that he was no longer alone in the room. John saw Hamilton's left hand involuntarily move to cover his right hand. Before he could do so, John noticed that the heel of Hamilton's hand was covered in black ink.

"It, ahem, it was knocked over while I was searching for a particular letter this morning. I apologize. You are welcome to use mine until I can secure a replacement for you." Hamilton said.

"Ah." John couldn't read Hamilton's expression. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair before settling in at his desk. "No matter. I will trouble myself with reading letters from Congress before responding. It will be a nice change."

Hamilton smiled faintly. It was not a genuine smile. Something might have been troubling him. John was glad of it. He wanted Hamilton to be wrought with guilt. He wanted Hamilton to stay awake at night mulling over all of the choices that had brought him to that moment, as John had the night before.

"I did not know that you were closely acquainted with Ms. Martha Manning." Hamilton said, returning his attention to his parchment.

John stared at Hamilton in disbelief. He could not believe that Hamilton would be accusing him of disloyalty; not after the manner with which Hamilton had conducted himself the night before. John may as well have consigned himself to speaking with the coat rack for the evening, so meaningless was Marty's company. Hamilton had been the one flirting with, laughing alongside of, and ultimately bedding, another.

"She is a family friend." John responded tightly.

"Her brother is a member of Parliament." Hamilton remarked, not looking up from whatever it was that he was writing.

"Yes." John agreed.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Hamilton scratched his quill against the parchment with such fervor that he could have only been writing a letter to Congress. John tried to read a letter from James Madison, but found himself reading the same sentence over a number of times.

"Hamilton, I need you to look into - oh, good morning, Colonel Laurens." Washington burst through the door, causing the sound and light of the outdoors to temporarily flood the room. When he closed the door, John's scope of vision was narrowed down to Washington.

He looked different. It wasn't a tangible change that had taken place - he was still General Washington, wearing General Washington's impeccable uniform with General Washington's impeccable posture, but there was something in his expression that had not been present a mere day ago. John did not have to try too hard to guess what might have caused this change.

"Good morning, Your Excellency." John said with some difficulty.

Washington's eyes roved over the letter in John's hand, then flicked down to the ink stain below John's feet. He frowned.

"I presume that Hamilton apologized on my behalf for your ink pot." He said. "It appears that I was not as careful as I ought to have been last night while taking off my coat and quite nudged it off of your desk. I have sent on of my men to town to recover you a new one so you may work without such detrimental prohibition."

John tried very hard to keep his expression neutral.

"Of course." He said. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

Hamilton had told him that he had been the one to knock over the ink pot that morning while searching for a letter. Washington was now telling him that he had been the one to knock over the ink pot while taking off his coat. Washington could not have been the one to knock over the ink pot, as Hamilton's hand was stained, but Washington would not have taken responsibility for a mere ink pot to shield Hamilton from blame. He was lying because it benefited him, somehow. John did not have to wonder too hard to discern what sort of scuffle upon his desk might have created the harm to his ink pot that neither Hamilton nor Washington wanted to confess to.

Washington cleared his throat and returned his attention to Hamilton. For once, Hamilton had taken notice of his entrance into the room.

"Hamilton." He said. "I need you to look into the uniforms that Mr. Morris pledged last night. I am not certain as to whether he made the pledge due to your compelling arguments, or due to the spirits which he ingested. I would ask you to send him a persuasive letter reminding him of his promise."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton agreed.

"Good." Washington nodded.

He lingered in the room for a moment. John observed him. It was easy enough to do so; it was clear that Washington would not be taking his eyes off of Hamilton for a short while, still. Hamilton had begun his letter to Mr. Morris, and was therefore doing nothing to discourage Washington from standing in the middle of the room and staring at him.

Tolerant as John was, he was reaching his limit. He rose to his feet, his chair scraping the wooden floor beneath him. He intended to return to the inn, if for no reason other than to find another ink pot instead of waiting around for a foot soldier to bring him one.

"Oh, Colonel Laurens." The action seemed to have reminded Washington of John's existence. "I nearly forgot - a letter arrived for you this morning. I believe General Lafayette has it with him whenever you are ready to retain possession of it."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." John was glad for the excuse to leave. He bowed his head a bit. "Excuse me."

He hurried out of the quarters before Hamilton could even look up. He abhorred the idea of voluntarily leaving Hamilton and Washington alone, but he disliked remaining between them even more. He hated the entitled way that Washington watched Hamilton go about his daily duties. He detested the way that Hamilton jumped at Washington's every command. Mostly, though, he loathed himself for causing himself such pain in allowing himself to love a man like Hamilton.

"General Lafayette." John tried to smile as he found Lafayette teaching a group of new men from town how to load gunpowder into a musket. "I trust that you have recovered from last night's libations?"

"Ah, yes, I have. Thank you, _Monsieur_ Laurens." Lafayette smiled sheepishly. "And I apologize for any statements I made which may have been -"

"All is forgiven." John interrupted.

He did not want to relive the previous night any more than he had to. He did not want to acknowledge what Lafayette had told him the night before; that Hamilton choosing Washington over him had been inevitable the moment Washington had declared that they would be attending a party.

"General Washington informs me that I have the happy fortune of receiving a letter." He said, hoping that Lafayette would accept the change in topic.

"Yes." Lafayette accepted the change with the good graces of a gentleman. "It seems that you have made quite an impression on young Ms. Manning."

"She is a family friend." John mumbled, accepting the letter from Lafayette.

He recognized the familiar curvature of Marty's writing. She had addressed the letter: "_Written with affection to one Colonel John Laurens_." John's ears burned with embarrassment as he realized that, at the very least, both Lafayette and Washington had seen this inscription.

"Excuse me." He told Lafayette, nodding in his direction before walking toward the inn just down the cobblestone road.

He should have returned to work, but he had a feeling that, on this particular day, Washington would not much mind if John left him and Hamilton alone for a little while longer. Besides, John had to get his feelings under control before he trusted himself to be alone with Hamilton again. Presently, it was taking all of his strength to not throw the broken ink pot straight at Hamilton's head.

He charged into the inn and up the stairs, having no trouble getting to his room. Most men had evacuated the inn for the day, leaving only the town drunks to contribute to the volume. John locked the door to his room behind him. He did not want any well-intentioned advice from Lafayette, or any sort of explanation from Hamilton. He wanted to be left alone.

He sat down on his cot and tore the envelope housing Marty's letter open. The act, done without a proper envelope opener, caused his finger to sustain a small cut. He wiped the droplet of blood, which had bloomed on said finger, on his lip as he unfolded Marty's letter with his uninjured hand. His eyebrows furrowed as he read.

_Dearest John,_

_Thank you for paying me the compliment of your favor at Mr. Morris' party last night. I could not have dreamed of a happier evening than the one we enjoyed. I hope that you will not find my letter too toward, but rather, a continuance of a correspondence which fell into disrepair a few years past._

_My father heard my accounts of your lovely behavior last night and requested that I write to you, inviting you to dine with us tomorrow night. Though he shuddered terribly at the thought of me writing you before you wrote me - a coquettish facade which I believe would not have suited either of us - he shuddered even more violently at my description of how thin you have become and insists that we furnish you with our favor as a moral imperative._

_I share in my father's eagerness as we both await your company._

_Yours,_

_Marty_

John looked down at the letter dispassionately. He could not imagine what Marty intended by writing in such tongues. No lady had ever written him this sort of letter. He had never been the subject of flirtations involving words such as "eagerness" and "lovely". On the rare occasion that a lady did write to him, it was typically the courtesy of thanking him for an act which both of them considered mandatory. He figured that letters from his mother did not constitute correspondence with a lady.

He wondered at Marty's transparence. When he had heard gentlemen speak of such letters from ladies, there was always a mention of some vague statements, or a lack of directness. John was led to understand that ladies were simply not as direct as men, either in their correspondence or in conversation. It appeared that Marty defied these beliefs.

He stared down at the letter for a long while. His initial reaction was to toss the letter into the fireplace and forget that the wretched evening had ever taken place. After a few more minutes of thinking, however, he considered the idea of having dinner at the Mannings' residence. There would be fresh food there. There would be company that was not Washington or Hamilton.

After a few more minutes, John reached for a quill. He had a small vial of ink in his travel bag. It would be sufficient to pen a letter. He had to write on the edge of the splintered dresser, as there were no desks in his room. He tried to maintain his handwriting despite this shortcoming.

_Ms. Manning,_

_You and your father do me a great honor in inviting me to dinner tomorrow night. I would enjoy few things more. I will endeavor to arrive before sundown, dependent as always on the General's requirement of my services._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Colonel Laurens_

It was a short letter, but it was sufficient. It conveyed all that John had set out to convey, without sounding either overly affectionate or decidedly cold. John read it over once before stuffing it into an envelope addressed to Marty and lighting a candle to melt some wax. He waited the required few minutes, then poured the wax onto the envelope and stamped it into a seal. He shook it as he walked out of his room and out into the inn hallway.

"Excuse me, sir. Would it be within your capabilities to post this on my behalf?" John held the letter out to the innkeeper as he walked downstairs.

"Is this General Washington's correspondence?" The innkeeper looked down at the envelope cynically.

"No, sir." John replied immediately. "It is my own personal correspondence. It is quite without regard to the war or its strategies therein."

He didn't want the innkeeper rifling through the envelope. He did not want an already-opened envelope to arrive at the Manning household.

"Yes, sir." The innkeeper agreed straight away, grabbing the envelope in a manner which suggested that it would arrive at the Manning household having already been opened.

John decided against allowing himself to be upset by the thought. He was far too upset about many other things. His nerves simply could not take anything further than what they were currently handling.

He abandoned the inn and returned to Washington's quarters. There, he found Hamilton hard at work. Washington was no longer in sight. John was glad of it. He wished to avoid being in the same room as Hamilton and Washington for the foreseeable future.

"Is all well?" Hamilton had the nerve to ask. He set down the parchment he'd been writing on and looked at John.

John sat at his desk. He grabbed a fresh letter off of the stack that Washington continued to pile upon his desk.

"Yes." He answered curtly, not meeting Hamilton's eyes. "Thank you."

Hamilton nodded to himself. His mouth opened once more, as though he intended to say something else. It hung open for a few seconds before he closed it and returned his attention to his work. John did not allow himself to wonder what Hamilton might have said to him.

He returned to work and attempted to rid himself of all thoughts of Hamilton entirely.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The following evening, John found himself alone at the door of the Manning residence. Washington had gladly given him leave to attend the dinner. Hamilton had been in the quarters when John had made his request. John had not looked at him. He was making an effort at caring for Hamilton as little as Hamilton appeared to care about him.

"Colonel Laurens!" Marty answered the door herself. It was a most unusual gesture. She ushered John into the house with a warm smile and fluttering hands.

"My family - and myself, of course - we were all so glad to receive your letter yesterday." Marty chattered as John removed his coat and handed it off to a nearby servant. "Silly Father, he had forgotten all about your favorite foods, but I still remember how you adore pheasant. You still enjoy pheasant, don't you?"

"Yes." John agreed, looking around the manor.

It had not changed last since he was last in New York with his father. The foyer was still absurdly lavish. The stairwell running up from the foyer hinted at unimaginable wealth. John had ascended those stairs on a few select occasions. He had stayed at the manor as a houseguest after a few nearby balls. The Mannings had been pleasant hosts.

"Colonel Laurens." Mr. Manning rose from his chair as Marty led John into the parlor.

John bowed, hoping that Mr. Manning would not direct the conversation to his father. John detested talking about his father at such social functions. He found himself dreaming of a time in which his father ceased to exist. He wondered if, after his father had perished, people would continue to ask after him.

"Mr. Manning. Thank you for extending your most generous invitation. It is a rare treat to enjoy such suitable company during this unhappy conflict with Britain." John said.

He'd rehearsed this greeting on his ride from camp.

"Ah, but your presence is a treat for us!" Mr. Manning gestured for John to sit.

Mr. Manning dismissed Marty with a wave of his hand. Marty pouted, but obeyed this wordless command. John sat on the chair across from Mr. Manning, glancing back at Marty's retreating figure.

"It is so rare that we have the opportunity to host soldiers whose company we enjoy." Mr. Manning continued pleasantly. "I fear that was largely our reason for not attending the ball with our daughter a few evenings prior. Mrs. Manning has had terrible interactions with soldiers who are...shall we say, rough around the edges. Imagine our delight when dear Martha returned home telling us all about how wonderfully you were getting along under General Washington's command."

If there was a man who John wanted to talk about less than his father, it was Washington.

"It was a happy surprise to see her at the ball." John said, forcing himself to smile. "I had quite expected a night consigned to unruly profiteers and overly curious ladies."

"Yes, quite right, quite right." Mr. Manning agreed.

"Mr. Manning, Colonel Laurens - dinner is served." Mrs. Manning poked her head into the parlor to smile at both Mr. Manning and John with the frazzled warmth of an overburdened hostess.

"Thank you, Mrs. Manning." John said immediately.

Both men rose to their feet to follow Mrs. Manning to the dining room. John still remembered where the dining room sat within the walls of the manor.

"Colonel Laurens," Mr. Manning stopped just short of the dining room. He lowered his voice to a conspiratory tone. "I would like to request a private audience with you following supper on a most delicate subject. I should assure you that it is no subject to fear, but is one most important and dear to my heart."

"Yes, sir." John agreed. "I should like nothing more than to speak with you after supper."

"Good man." Mr. Manning smiled, clapping John on the back and guiding him into the dining room.

Supper was a rather tedious affair. The pheasant which Marty had made a point of providing was dry and not to John's taste. Everyone seemed so terribly pleased to provide it to him, though, that he felt obligated to eat more of it than anyone else. He feared that it would forever ruin his enjoyment of pheasant in the future.

Mrs. Manning made small talk. She asked John the usual questions. She asked about life at camp, she asked about John's family, and she asked about the company of General Washington. Marty would interrupt this line of inquiry with some gay retort or playful joke directed at John. Mr. Manning would rescue John from both of these conversations when they grew too arduous. He would roll his eyes and smile at John as if to say: _we are the sane few among these women_. John was not certain that he wished to be included in any grouping involving Mr. Manning.

After supper, John and Mr. Manning retired to Mr. Manning's office. It was full of books. Hamilton would have loved nothing more than to see this room of nothing but books. John mentally reprimanded himself for thinking about Hamilton and what he would have enjoyed. He was certain that Hamilton was not thinking of him in his absence.

"I apologize for the formal nature of this conversation, Colonel Laurens…" Mr. Manning did not take a seat. As a consequence, neither did John. "I, ah...can I offer you a drink?"

"No, but I thank you for your offer all the same." John replied, his eyebrows furrowing a bit.

"Quite right, quite right." Mr. Manning murmured to himself. He had begun to pace a bit. He rubbed the patch of skin below his bottom lip with the edge of his index finger. He looked exceedingly troubled.

"It is a delicate matter." He told John. "One which I have discussed with your father at great length."

John's heart sank. If Mr. Manning was mentioning his father, the conversation could not be an enjoyable one. John found himself unsurprised by his father's ability to pull strings even from another state.

"I am sure that it has not escaped you that my daughter, Martha, is particularly fond of you." Mr. Manning remarked.

John's heart reached the bottom of his ribcage.

He recognized the direction which this conversation was destined to take immediately. He had borne similar conversations with his father.

"And I am fond of her." He said, carefully structuring his tone to avoid any implication of affection beyond that of friendship.

"And, as you know, she will soon reach an age where it is quite appropriate for her to entertain suitors." Mr. Manning continued. He was now wringing his hands. "I believe that she will do quite well in society. Her sister has borne three sons to her husband; Martha is expected to do the same. She is pretty, but sensible. She appears to be a natural at most domestic pursuits."

"She is a credit to your family." John agreed, his expression neutral.

"Your father has suggested, and I quite agree, that you and Martha might make a smart match." Mr. Manning finally reached the conclusion that John had been anticipating. "You are well-acquainted with one another, you occupy similar status in society, and your father has expressed a desire for grandchildren of his own."

"Mr. Manning, you flatter me merely by suggesting that I am worthy of your honorable daughter." John replied politely. "But I am not sure that my current lifestyle would be compatible with the occupation of matrimony."

"Oh, but it is the precise opposite, Colonel Laurens." Mr. Manning argued. "Have you not heard John Adams swear that General Washington would not be General Washington at all if it were not for Mrs. Custis? A wife of the right disposition and reputation can only advance your interests. Before the match was consummated, I am certain that I could secure a command for you. It would be dishonest for me to favor one officer of the militia over another, of course, but no one could fault me for promoting the interests of my son-in-law."

John's face burned with the embarrassment of the conversation.

"I will consider your most generous offer." He said. "But I fear I will have to leave you without a firm answer. I do not believe I can, in good faith, make such a promise without much thought."

"Quite right, quite right." Mr. Manning approved. "A young man must consider the gravity of such a choice."

John nodded uncomfortably. He looked over his shoulder, grappling for an excuse to leave. He had entertained the idea of staying at the manor overnight prior to his arrival; it seemed an attractive alternative to returning to his empty room in town. Now, however, he did not mind returning to an empty room so much. He much preferred it to seeing Marty and Mr. Manning casting him expectant looks throughout the evening.

"Well," He said awkwardly. "I think that I should return to camp. General Washington only permitted me the leave that he did out of his friendship towards you. I fear that idling any longer would strain any friendship he might feel towards me."

"Oh." Mr. Manning's mouth curved into a frown. "I had rather thought you would remain with us for the evening. Mrs. Manning was looking forward to playing cards."

"I apologize." John said without an ounce of regret. "I hope that we have an opportunity to play cards together in the future. Perhaps the General will permit me a longer leave when the British have been somewhat quelled."

"Perhaps." Mr. Manning agreed. "Thank you for dining with us, Colonel Laurens. It was a great pleasure."

"Thank you." John bowed slightly. "Good evening, Mr. Manning."

"Good evening, Colonel Laurens." Mr. Manning said.

John allowed a servant to show him towards a front door that he'd walked through nearly a dozen times in the past. He stepped out of the manor and into the night air and immediately felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his shoulder. He let out a heavy sigh, then proceeded towards the stables to retrieve his horse.

"Colonel Laurens." Marty startled John by stepping out from one of the stalls just as John was removing his horse. She was lucky that his hands were occupied by his horse's bridle. Otherwise, he might have reached for the knife attached to the belt of his trousers.

"Oh." His shoulders slumped with relief when he realized that it was only Marty. "Hello, Ms. Manning. I apologize for departing without saying goodbye - I expected that you and Mrs. Manning were indisposed and did not wish to disturb you."

"You can save the explanations and propriety for my parents." Marty said.

She followed John as he led his horse out of the barn. John looked at her, his brows furrowing. Now out of the presence of Mr. Manning, he allowed himself to frown.

"How do you mean?" He asked.

Marty rolled her eyes and smiled.

"I know that my father spoke with you about marrying me." She said. "He spoke with me about it when he heard that General Washington was returning to New York. He and your father have been discussing the idea of our marrying since we were children."

John tried not to balk at Marty's candid way of speaking about such a concept. He did not want her to know that his father had not been nearly as forthcoming with him as Mr. Manning had quite clearly been with Marty. He, too, wished to act as though he was perfectly aware that this union had been orchestrated since Marty's birth.

"You seem rather amused by the notion." He remarked, his tone cool.

"Not at all." Marty responded. "It has been rather difficult to maintain a friendship with you and keep the other hopeful ladies from flocking to you at parties. I only wish to let you know that I overheard you telling my father that you would need to consider the possibility of it all."

"Ah." John felt his face redden somewhat. "I hope that I did not offend you, I…"

"No," Marty shook her head, smiling. "I am not offended. I only wished to tell you, before you left to consider, that I know that you are different. Marriage would not give me any impression that you might change; that you might, well...prefer a lady's company. I would give you a son, and would be a hostess for your parties. Otherwise, I would let you live however you would like."

John realized with a start that Marty knew about his defect. He had tried to hide it well over the years; he could not recall where he might have unwittingly allowed her to find out. He did not know whether he ought to acknowledge her statement, or respond with indignation at her accusation. He was tempted to consider her offer. It would certainly solve many of his more troublesome issues. No one would question his masculinity if he were married. His father would cease with his fanciful letters about John taking an interest in marrying a woman of his class. Everyone would believe that he was normal.

"I…" John's mouth dried a bit. "I do not know what you mean to accuse me of, but…"

"John." Marty interrupted, still smiling. The smile had turned piteous. "I am not accusing you of anything. I want for you what you want for you. Let me help you."

"Even if what you were saying were true," John replied carefully. "Why would you agree to such an arrangement? What is there to be gained? You could marry a man of my status and wealth who might better enjoy your company."

Marty, still smiling, just shrugged.

"Because I would prefer to have whatever you would give me." She replied.

John saw it. He saw the same pathetic desperation in Marty's eyes that he saw in his own when he looked in the mirror. It was unattractive and contemptible. It reminded him far too much of the way that he had pined over Hamilton while Hamilton acted with careless disregard for his feelings. It reminded him that this sort of vile pining for another person could span over the years without any hope of its being requited.

"Goodnight, Ms. Manning." He said, nodding at Marty curtly before swinging onto his horse. He did not look back at her as he rode off in the direction of camp.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"Good morning, _Monsieur_ Laurens." Lafayette greeted John the next morning when they crossed paths. John was walking towards Washington's quarters. Lafayette appeared to be riding his horse around the area for no apparent reason.

"Good morning." John replied, not wishing to linger.

"'ow was your supper with Ms. Martha Manning?" Lafayette asked, seemingly unaware of John's intention to arrive to work at a reasonable hour that particular morning. He trotted his horse alongside of John while he walked.

"It was fine." John answered curtly.

He did not wish to speak of the proposed betrothal. He did not want Lafayette to wonder why any man should have to think twice about such an offer. Marty was pretty. Marty would come with a great deal of money. Marty's father would come with a great deal of connections. Besides, ladies were not exactly lining up to be courted by John.

He nodded to Lafayette - just enough to satisfy the respect that his superior position clearly entitled him to - before beginning to walk in the direction of Washington's quarters.

"Ah, _Monsieur_ Laurens." Lafayette hastened, steering his horse to block John's path. "It is best you ride with me zis morning. Ze General is...ah...indisposed."

John's heart sank.

He did not want to think about what - or _who_ \- Washington was indisposed with.

"Very well." He said, painfully aware of how clogged his voice sounded to his own ears. "I will retrieve my horse."

Lafayette nodded, frowning as John walked off in the direction of the stables.

* * *

John did not get a shred of work done all day. At lunch, Lafayette poked his head into the quarters to see if John could get to work. He returned, shaking his head and frowning.

It turned out that, while Washington was indeed indisposed with Hamilton, it was a quarrel which was consuming his time. According to Lafayette, it was shaping up to be a rather nasty one.

At dinner, neither Washington nor Hamilton were present. There were a few murmurs about Washington's absence, but Hamilton's absence did not appear to be noteworthy to the rest of the men. John could not fault them for this. Hamilton did frequently work through dinner.

John tried not to care about Hamilton's absence, like the rest of the men.

He ate his dinner alone. Lafayette ate his dinner near Washington's quarters. John had not become any closer with the men whom he outranked. He found, though, that he did not mind eating by himself. It gave him time to think. Following Mr. Manning's proposal, he had plenty to think about.

After dinner, John returned to the inn. He could not allow himself to loiter around quarters to satisfy his urge to see Hamilton and Washington were through with their squabbles. He wanted so badly not to care.

As John reached the top of the steps up to the hallway of doors, he noticed that his door was open. Camp was secure from British soldiers, but not from thieves. Careful to avoid the floorboards that had a tendency to creak, John drew closer to the door and craned his neck to see if there were any people remaining in his room.

He did not see anyone. He let out a sigh of relief and entered the room. He swung the door shut behind him. As soon as it clicked shut, he began digging through his bags, taking inventory of anything which might have been stolen.

"What are you doing?"

John let out a shout of surprise as he whipped around. Without thinking, he drew his knife from its sheath on his belt. As his adrenaline cooled into something more manageable, his eyes focused on the face of a very startled Hamilton.

He was lying in John's bed. He'd propped himself up, and was now looking at John from the other side of the knife.

"Hamilton!" John couldn't seem to lower his voice as he returned his knife to its sheath. "I nearly slaughtered you!"

"Hm...General Washington might have tried you for treason." Hamilton joked, settling back into the bed.

Hamilton's careless mention of Washington reminded John of the reality of his circumstances. Hamilton had chosen Washington. He was not lying in John's bed because he, too, was John's. He was likely just hoping to take advantage of John's weakness.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, trying to sound as cold and aloof as he had heard his father sound on many occasions.

Hamilton's grin faded. He looked less confident than he had seconds before.

"I asked Washington for a command today." He said, as though he had done so at John's request.

"I cannot imagine how such a request has brought you to my bed." John replied tersely.

"Can you not?" Hamilton wondered, his brows furrowing.

He climbed out of bed. His movements were graceful. His leg had healed following the militia's unceremonious arrival into New Jersey.

"I thought that after all we had said - all that we had planned - you would understand. If I am given a command, I might rise in name and wealth enough for us to be together without having to hide. After all, no one gives Von Steuben a second glance." Hamilton explained, moving towards John.

John took a step back, fixing Hamilton with an icy glare. Hamilton stopped moving.

"I think that you had better return to your own room." John said.

"No!" Hamilton protested, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open. "No, I...I...when I heard that you were dining with the Mannings after the letter that she had sent you, I...I just had to talk to you. I had to be certain that you knew, that you knew that I lo-"

"Mr. Hamilton." John closed his eyes as he interrupted Hamilton.

His eyes had begun to burn with tears. He did not want to display such weakness in front of Hamilton. A charged silence hung between the men as John drew in a shuddering breath.

"I believe I asked you to leave."

Hamilton blinked, his bottom lip moving to close his mouth. Without a word, he nodded and walked past John to the door. He paused when his hand touched the doorknob, his shoulders tense.

Hamilton remained there for a few agonizing seconds, quite clearly waiting for John to say that he hadn't meant what he had said. John kept his mouth clamped shut. Accepting this with as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances, Hamilton turned the doorknob and opened the door. He walked through it without looking back at John.

John kept his expression stony until the door swung closed behind Hamilton. The moment that the door shut, John allowed his shoulders to slump. He let out a heavy sigh. He moved towards the bed, all but collapsing in the imprint that Hamilton had left. The bed was still warm.

John allowed himself the simple pleasure of curling up and allowing the warmth to envelope him. It was the closest that he had been to Hamilton in weeks. He imagined that it was the closest that he would ever be to Hamilton again.

* * *

The next morning, John entered Washington's quarters as soon as the sun had begun to rise. Hamilton was there, already hard at work. John moved towards his desk, fully expecting Hamilton to ignore him. Hamilton had ignored him each and every day leading up to this one. John did not see why that particular day should be different.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurens." Hamilton said as John took a seat at his desk.

John glanced over at Hamilton in surprise. He was further surprised to find that Hamilton was looking at him. Hamilton rarely looked up from his work. It was unheard of for him to look up from his work to greet someone who did not outrank him.

"Good morning, Mr. Hamilton." John tried to regulate his facial expression as he took a seat at his desk.

He pulled the first parchment off of the top of the stack and set to work reading its contents.

"Did you sleep well?" Hamilton asked after a few seconds.

"I beg your pardon?" John tore his eyes away from the parchment to frown at Hamilton.

"Did you…" Hamilton looked as foolish as he sounded. "Did you sleep well?"

"I don't know...yes, I suppose." John responded, his brows furrowing. "Is there something the matter, Mr. Hamilton?"

Hamilton sighed, glancing back in the direction of Washington's office.

"He is not in his office, presently." He informed John. "You may speak freely."

"May I?" John retorted, rolling his eyes. "I apologize if I appeared to be speaking in any other fashion, Mr. Hamilton, but I assure you, I am not putting on any airs for yours or General Washington's benefit. Now, if you are not going to say anything of meaning, I would prefer you permit me to get on with my work."

"I am -" Hamilton voice reached the same decibel that it had been when Washington had read a letter from Congress suggesting that his officers all be men who owned property. He realized this and took in a deep breath. He tried again. "I realize that my neglect of you is responsible for your animosity towards me. I am trying to repair the damage that I have caused."

"You believe that asking me if I slept well will make me forget that you chose Washington over me without a second thought?" John couldn't resist asking.

"Choose…? I did not choose him over you or anyone else. I am trying to achieve an officer's title, John. You know this. I am trying to do so for -"

John pushed his chair back, rising to his feet. He did not know why he was rising to his feet. He could not leave the room. As it was, he had already neglected his work a shameful amount due to Hamilton-related causes.

"Don't." He warned Hamilton firmly. "_Don't_."

Hamilton rose to his feet, too. His face was growing ruddy with anger. He was usually the temperamental one between himself and John. John typically yielded when Hamilton was angry. John was not yielding today. John was too angry to yield.

"I am not giving up on this." Hamilton announced in that comically grand way of his. He sounded as though he believed himself to be Lancelot. That would make John Geuivere, he supposed. It was fitting, in some ways. He was foolish and was often in a great deal of distress.

"What is there to give up on?" John demanded.

"You and I." Hamilton persisted. "You and I are...I have never encountered anything like it. You make me feel as though I belong. I have never felt that way before."

"There is no 'you and I.'" John reminded Hamilton impatiently. "And there is no chance of there ever being a 'you and I.' I am to wed Martha Manning."

"What?" Hamilton physically recoiled, as though John had hit him.

John swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling rather scratchy. Now that he had said it, he didn't suppose he could take it back.

"Her father suggested the match to me after supper the other night." John explained, though he had no reason to justify himself to Hamilton. "It is a smart match - much better than I could have hoped for. She will come with money, land, and status."

Hamilton paused for a second, processing John's words.

"All right." He said. "All right, then we will be even more like Von Steuben. He is married, too, you see. He married to advance his own purposes. General Washington did the same thing. The two of us, we'll marry for wealth and title, and we'll become so powerful that no one will say anything if we should spend an inordinate amount of time together."

"No, Hamilton." John was becoming more frustrated than angry. Hamilton was making everything more difficult by refusing to allow John to condemn himself to a loveless marriage for the rest of his life. "There is no grand plan at work. There is no happy ever after. I am going to marry Ms. Manning. That is all there is."

"I will not give up on you." Hamilton said again.

"I wish that you would." John remarked, shaking his head and sitting back down in the seat which he had arisen from. He pulled another piece of parchment from the corner of his desk and tried to focus on it.

"I won't." Hamilton reaffirmed.

John shook his head and began writing. He did not wish to hear anymore about Hamilton's silly promises. He knew that Hamilton's words were just that - words. He knew firsthand how quickly Hamilton abandoned such words the moment it suited him to do so.

* * *

_Mr. Manning,_

_After much consideration and reflection, I have decided to accept your most generous proposal of a union between your youngest daughter and myself. At your pleasure, I would very much like to dine with you and your family again, so that I might broach the subject with the young Ms. Manning, myself._

_Respectfully,_

_John Laurens_

John stared down at the letter for a moment, looking for some defect in his words which might entitle him to burn the damning document. When he could find no such defect, he let out a heavy sigh and started his next letter.

_Father,_

_I am certain that you are already aware of the proposal which Mr. William Manning made to me following a supper which I enjoyed at the Manning residence. I am certain of this because, as I have recently been informed, it was you yourself who suggested the match quite unbeknownst to me._

_I, therefore, have no apprehension about informing you of this decision and do not feel compelled to beg your permission. I shall write you with details of the wedding, should you choose to attend._

_Convey my warmest affection and devotion to my mother._

_Your dutiful son,_

_John Laurens_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Ms. Manning, might I request your company as I take a walk about your father's property?" John asked after enjoying a rather uncomfortable supper at the Mannings' residence.

Mr. Manning had invited him to dine at the manor the day after John had sent the letter suggesting that he would be amenable to an engagement with Marty. Mr. Manning had given his permission for John to ask for Marty's hand immediately. He had stated that he would be delighted to welcome John into the family.

At the supper, both Mr. Manning and Marty, herself, made a poor showing of pretending that they did not know that John would propose to Marty at the end of the meal. Mrs. Manning, at least, did not seem to know.

"Oh." Marty did not even try to conceal her smile at John's request. "Certainly, Colonel Laurens. I would be delighted. Perhaps I might show you the gardens. Father has only recently completed his most recent addition to the gardens."

John rose from his seat, bowing courteously toward Mr. and Mrs. Manning before nodding in Marty's direction. He hoped that the gesture appropriately signified that he was prepared to accompany her to the gardens. He knew where the gardens were. He had played with her in them when they were children.

Marty placed her hand on John's arm as he walked with her towards the gardens. Once outside, John focused on the pleasant sound of cicadas beginning to call to one another in the warm summer air. The gardens had not changed very much since he had last visited. The familiar scent of lilac filled his senses.

"I am glad that you returned for another supper with my family." Marty said as they walked about the neat lines of the garden. "I was afraid that I had frightened you off after your last visit."

"Frightened me?" John acted as though Marty's talk of marriage during their previous encounter had not weighed on his mind at all. He was not much of a performer. He never had been.

Marty smiled indulgently.

"When are we to be wed?" She asked.

John let out a sigh. He knew Marty too well to be surprised that she had not waited for him to even suggest that he might propose. He did not doubt that her father had told her about John's letter immediately after reading it.

"General Washington had to find an agreeable date which would not conflict with his own schedule, but would occur before our forces were to move to New York." John replied. "He suggested October."

"I still have time to plan, yet." Marty remarked.

"Yes." John agreed.

"Father will want to discuss my dowry with you once we are through talking." Marty said thoughtfully. "He means to give you a great deal of land and money. He is also speaking with many of his friends in the hopes of achieving a position of greater command for you."

"Your father is a kind man." John said. "But I did not agree to marry you because I believed I would receive riches or title for it."

"Oh, John." Marty smiled. Her eyes conveyed a certain sadness in spite of the smile. "Why else would you?"

John could not come up with a response which Marty would believe.

* * *

"Congratulations, _mon amie_!" Lafayette exclaimed the morning in which John's engagement to Marty was made known.

John had been forced to tell Washington about the wedding. He had to request leave in order to attend his wedding. He had been forced to allow Washington to dictate the day of his wedding based on the days which he could afford to spare John's employ.

October 26th.

Hamilton had been in the next room when John had made his request to Washington. John had seen the look on Hamilton's face as he exited Washington's office and knew that Hamilton had overheard.

He tried very hard not to care. He refused to justify himself.

Now, Lafayette was calling everyone's attention to the matter. He had called across the camp as John carried a note from Washington to Charles Lee. Several heads had turned at the news.

"Thank you, General Lafayette." John replied stiffly.

"Congratulations?" One of the men who John saw regularly looked at Lafayette curiously. "General, for what accomplishment are you congratulating Colonel Laurens? Colonel Laurens, have you received an officer's commission?"

"No, not exactly, I -"

"Colonel Laurens is to be married." Lafayette said without an ounce of discretion. "To one miss Martha Manning. I 'ave not 'ad ze pleasure of laying eyes on her, but I am told zat she is beautiful."

"Really?" The man looked over at John, a surprised grin crossing his face. "Colonel Laurens? Well, congratulations, Colonel."

The man gave a sort of a chuckle before wandering off in the direction of a few soldiers who had formed a small group in Lafayette's idleness.

"Ze men will be pleasantly surprised to 'ear that you are betrothed." Lafayette said. An easy smile slid across his face. "Zey suspected zat you much preferred ze company of men to women."

"They did? Why did they believe that? I mean, certainly there is no truth to those suspicions...do you think I should confront them?" John asked, flustered. He could feel his face growing hot.

Lafayette laughed. "Zere is no need now, my friend. Go, enjoy ze freedom you have given yourself."

John bowed quickly before hurrying away from Lafayette. He found it strange that Lafayette, of all people, had dared to suggest that, by proposing to Marty, John had somehow found freedom. If anything, he had created a prison for himself through the entire institution of marriage. He was forever condemned to Marty.

"General Lee." John found Lee overseeing men as they sharpened a small pile of sabers. He bowed towards Lee just low enough to be respectful, but not so low as to be deferential. He knew that Lee didn't like him. Lee had to know that the feeling was mutual.

"Colonel Laurens." Lee had a way of emphasizing John's rank, as if intent on reminding John of the inferiority of his rank.

"I have a note from General Washington." John handed over the note which Washington had entrusted him with.

"Ah." Lee accepted the note, breaking the seal with the edge of the nearest saber. "Dare I ask why you dwelled in delivering this note? I watched you converse with General Lafayette for the better part of ten minutes."

"I apologize, General Lee." John bowed his head slightly. "General Lafayette was congratulating me on my recent engagement."

"You mean to tell me that you are recently betrothed?" Lee looked up from the note distractedly.

"Yes, sir." John replied.

"Hm." Lee raised his eyebrows, then looked down at the note again. "Who is the lady? Would I know her?"

"Martha Manning, sir." John disliked having to answer Lee's questions.

Lee had no right to know anything about his life. Still, if he told Lee that it was none of his concern, Lee could light into him for disobedience, or for insolence. He had demonstrated quite clearly that he was not in the slightest bit uncomfortable inflicting punishment upon anyone under his command.

"Manning. Good family." Lee remarked, still reading the note.

"Yes, sir." John said.

"Well, Colonel Laurens." Lee looked up at John as he folded Washington's note and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Thank you for making time to deliver this note to me in the midst of your premarital bliss. Now, if you please, tell General Washington that I can have the rations for our move to New York prepared no earlier than November."

"Yes, sir." John had to bite his tongue from snapping back at Lee's sarcasm.

He bowed once again, then turned on his heel and walked back to Washington's quarters. When John opened the door, he found Washington dictating something to Hamilton while Hamilton wrote. The sight of them near one another had done wonders in strengthening John's resolve not to forgive Hamilton.

Hamilton rose to his feet when John entered the room. The act caused Washington to look in the direction of the doorway, his brows furrowed. When he realized it was only John, he relaxed his posture and took a few steps in John's direction.

"Colonel Laurens - what did General Lee have to say about my proposal?" He inquired.

"He said that he would not be able to have the rations prepared until November, Your Excellency." John replied.

"November." Washington chewed at his bottom lip, considering this. "Very well. I suppose that means we are to remain where we are for winter."

John bowed his head slightly and lowered his eyes. He knew better than to answer Washington's question, for it was no question at all. It was the complaint of a man impatient to win a war. It was the complaint of a man who had reason to know that Congress was already discussing his replacement.

"Hamilton - I want you to run Lee's figures twice. I believe that the British are camped nearby. A confrontation with them is certain, regardless of our movements. I would much prefer to be prepared to mobilize if the confrontation should go poorly." Washington turned to look at Hamilton.

"Yes, sir." Hamilton looked at John momentarily before taking his seat at his desk and dipping his quill in ink. He was like to remain in Washington's quarters for the remainder of the evening to carry out this request.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington then turned his attention to John. "Beginning tomorrow morning - early, before any of your fellow soldiers are awake - I want you to take a horse and ride around looking for choice areas where we might meet the British. I want detailed reports of each area - high grounds, dips in the terrain, nearby waterways, anything which might be of use to us during battle. Take special care when you survey Monmouth."

"Monmouth, sir?" John echoed.

He was not familiar with the area.

Washington nodded solemnly. John supposed the nod meant that Washington would not elaborate on why he had emphasized the necessity of surveying Monmouth in particular.

"Your Excellency." Hamilton interjected without having been invited to speak. Had he been anyone else, Washington might have shamed him for such insolence. Instead, because it was Hamilton, Washington merely looked in Hamilton's direction to pay better attention to his words.

"Might I offer my services to assist Colonel Laurens?" Hamilton continued with a false tone of humility. "Though it is undisputed that Colonel Laurens' education and experiences make him a far more skilled surveyor than I, I am more familiar with New York than he, as it is, and has been for many years, my home. If you could afford to dispense with us both for the early hours of the morning, we might complete the job twice as fast as if John were to go alone."

Washington's jaw tensed as he considered Hamilton's request. John himself wondered at Hamilton's courage. Though Hamilton had not made a secret of his eagerness to reacquaint himself with John, he had never proposed to do so within the course of his work for Washington. He had never let personal quarrels influence his professionalism.

Washington turned to look at John. John tried to appear unassuming. Despite the knowledge that each man possessed of the other, John had the courtesy to act as though he did not.

"What say you, Colonel Laurens?" Washington asked. "Do you believe Colonel Hamilton's presence would assist you in your assignment?"

"I appreciate Your Excellency's consideration in putting such a question to me." John bowed his head respectfully. "If Colonel Hamilton knows New York so well as he suggests, I would be grateful for his assistance."

Hamilton grinned.

Washington chewed at his lip a bit more before nodding.

"All right." He said, his tone reluctant. "Colonel Hamilton will accompany you, Colonel Laurens. As there are two of you, I will expect you both back in my employ before dawn breaks."

"Yes, Your Excellency." Both Hamilton and John said.

* * *

That night, a knock on John's door roused him from his sleep just as soon as he began dozing off.

"Hello?" He called sleepily into the darkness.

"John." Hamilton's voice drifted through the door. He knocked against the door again. This time, the knock was softer. "John, wake up. We have to go survey the land before dawn."

"Hamilton?" John struggled upwards, forcing his eyes open. "What...what time is it?"

"I'm not sure." Hamilton replied. "I believe it is early still. I only just finished my work for the day."

John let out a groan as he rolled out of bed. He groped for clothes - it did not matter to him if they matched or not. He would sort out his appearance once he returned from Washington's fool errand. Once he was appropriately clothed, he opened the door and found Hamilton standing outside of his door, holding a lantern. Hamilton looked as bright and alert as though it were midday.

"Did you sleep at all?" John couldn't help but ask him.

"No." Hamilton looked surprised by the question. "There is far too much to do to bother with a trifle like sleep."

John rolled his eyes and walked into the hallway, closing his door behind him. Hamilton grinned like a fool.

"Which direction do you think we ought to start?" Hamilton wondered as they began to walk out of the inn and towards the stables.

"I was under the impression that you were better acquainted with New York than I." John replied.

They entered the stables. Hamilton approached the stall of Washington's horse, Nelson. John approached the stall of a horse he had managed to procure from the Mannings. Marty had told him that the name of the horse was Henry.

They exited the stables and mounted their horses. Hamilton looked comically short sitting atop Nelson. John allowed himself a small, wry smile as Hamilton started for the gates.

"I believe we ought to move Northward first, then work our way back down to camp." Hamilton said as John urged his horse on to trot beside Nelson. "That way, we draw nearer the British when we are still covered by the cloak of night. We will return to our own territory as the sun rises."

"As you wish." John conceded.

They continued on for a few moments in silence. Hamilton led the way. John could hardly see where he was going in the dark. He trusted that Henry's eyes had adjusted better than his own.

"You must know," Hamilton began as they continued on their route. "The relationship between General Washington and I -"

"Mr. Hamilton, I think that you ought to govern your words more carefully." John warned him. "Before you say something which we both might later regret."

"I confess no friendship to General Washington." Hamilton continued regardless of John's warning. "The friendship that I might have shown him in the past is in furtherance of the task at hand, and always in the hopes that he would consider me for a promotion. I had hoped that with a higher rank, you and I might…"

"Mr. Hamilton." John grumbled.

"I told you that I would not give up." Hamilton reminded John, his tone forcefully pleasant. "And so, I will not give up. I love you, John. I have loved you every day since I first told you. I may have loved you a few days prior to telling you."

John clenched his jaw.

"I am to be married." He stated coldly.

"Plenty of men are married, John." Hamilton replied.

He looked at John, a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

John frowned, looking ahead into the darkness. He did not wish to be the type of man that Hamilton had described. He had always imagined that his marriage would be a happy one, unlike his father's. He imagined that if a woman could persuade him to take a vow, he would mean it.

"I believe that you still love me, too." Hamilton said, observing John for a few more seconds before turning his attention back to the field they were crossing. "I would not continue to make my feelings known if I did not believe that there was no chance that you might return said feelings."

John remained silent. He glared ahead at the horizon that he could not see. He did not trust himself to speak, either to confirm or deny Hamilton's allegation. If he were to attempt to lie and state that he no longer cared for Hamilton, John did not trust that his voice would not betray him. If he were to tell Hamilton the truth, John believed that he would be placed in the same situation in which he had found himself several months ago.

"Tell me." Hamilton implored him. "Tell me what I might do to earn back your affection."

"There is nothing." John said after a moment's hesitation.

"I cannot believe that." Hamilton objected.

"What field is this?" John tried to change the subject.

"It hasn't a name." Hamilton answered. "And is not likely to be the site of a skirmish. If it would put your mind at ease, I will include it in the log which General Washington has asked you to submit. I suspected that you might forget a notebook and pencil on this journey and had the forethought to bring my own."

John was glad for the darkness, for it concealed the blush that erupted across his skin. He had forgotten the items that Hamilton charged him with forgetting.

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton." He said, clearing his throat in the hopes of avoiding sounding too sheepish.

"It is my greatest pleasure to care for you in every way that I can." Hamilton replied. "I love you."

John wanted to knock Hamilton off of his horse for saying such a cruel thing to him. It appeared to cost Hamilton nothing to say those words when it suited him. When it did not suit him, however, it seemed that Hamilton was not bound by the emotions which he swore existed. John was not like Hamilton. He could not choose when he loved someone and when he did not. He wished that he could. He would have chosen not to love Hamilton.

"Do you need to stop in order to write?" John asked, hoping to change the subject.

"No." Hamilton let go of the reins to the horse as he scrawled something in his notebook. John couldn't fathom how Hamilton could even see what he was writing.

"Very well." John sighed, looking around.

He wished that Washington had sent someone else with him and Hamilton. It was miserable enough to be confined in the office with Hamilton each day, but the tension was alleviated by the constant coming and going of other soldiers. Here, John was left entirely alone with Hamilton. Hamilton seemed to consider their undisturbed proximity a license to speak of love and other such topics. It was unbearable.

They continued on combing over all of the fields they could encounter before the sun began to poke up on the horizon. Hamilton continued proclaiming his love for John as the opportunity arose. John continued batting away such proclamations as best he knew how.

By the time they returned to camp, John was fairly sure that Hamilton had said the words "I love you" fifty times. He was tired of hearing it. He never wanted to hear it again.

"Colonel Laurens, Colonel Hamilton." Washington appraised the men as they returned to the office to work for the day. "What accomplishments have you made this morning?"

"Here you are, Your Excellency." Hamilton handed over the notebook which he had brought along with him on the ride. It appeared to be full already, containing ample notes of all appropriate facts and figures.

Washington accepted the notebook with a curt nod in Hamilton's direction.

"Colonel Laurens, how did you find Monmouth?" He asked.

"I found it a very suitable place for battle, Your Excellency." John answered. "There is a hill which would be most advantageous to approach on, if we were to have the right elements of timing and surprise."

Washington nodded in John's direction.

"Thank you for your care on this matter, gentlemen." He said. "Now, I would much appreciate your return to your normal tasks."

"Yes, Your Excellency." John and Hamilton chorused.

As Washington turned to return to his office, Hamilton's eyes shifted to meet John's. He winked. John rolled his eyes and turned away.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The eve before John was to report to the home of the Mannings to marry Marty, Lafayette insisted on taking John, as well as a few of his soldiers, around for a few drinks. Lafayette stated that such a celebration was mandatory and would not hear John's protests. It was all that John could do to convince him to drink the ale in the inn which they resided in, instead of troubling the citizens of the nearby town with their rowdy conduct.

Hamilton had come down from his room during this event. Lafayette and John had noticed him at the same time. Lafayette had spared John one glance; it was all that was required for him to know better than to invite Hamilton to join them in celebrating John's imminent marriage.

Though Hamilton's presence added further emotional burdens to the already troublesome event, Lafayette seemed determined to force John to enjoy himself.

"So tell me, Monsieur Laurens." Lafayette said jovially. "'Ow many nights is General Washington allowing you to remain with your beautiful bride?"

"Two." John replied, lifting his ale to his lips and trying to avoid Hamilton's stare from across the inn.

"Two nights?" Lafayette echoed incredulously. "But zat is not nearly enough! You will have to ply your wife with plenty of coffee if you are to have any 'ope of making use of my wedding gift."

"Your…?" John trailed off weakly.

Lafayette grinned. It was a handsome, drunken smile that made John nervous.

"Come," Lafayette said. He rose to his feet with some difficulty. He gestured for John to follow him up the stairs to the inn. John reluctantly obliged him.

Once they reached Lafayette's room, Lafayette dug through his bags in search of something, presumably the wedding present that he had told John about. After a few moments of searching, he held out a book. John accepted it and examined the cover.

The Lovers Watch: Or the Art of Making Love by Aphra Behn.

"Oh." John's face reddened immediately. "Thank you."

"I recommend you study it well, _mon amie_." Lafayette said, grinning. "It will tell you all zat you must know. Just don't waste any excitement on tonight. Remember zat you now have a wife to satisfy."

"Right." John wished that he could vanish into thin air.

"I will leave you to your reading, Monsieur Laurens." Lafayette shepherded John out of his room.

He then bowed courteously toward John, the gesture more playful than respectful. After straightening his posture, he bounded back down the stairs, presumably to drink more ale. John was left standing alone in the hallway.

John returned to his room. He didn't much feel like rejoining the party which Lafayette had organized downstairs. He doubted very much that his absence would be felt.

After closing the door behind him, John sat on his bed and began flipping through the book that Lafayette had given him. It contained dozens of lewd drawings. John retrieved the bottle of whiskey which Washington had given him for the occasion of his wedding, then returned his attention to the contemptible book.

He had to take a pull of whiskey to bolster his courage each time he had to turn the page. It all seemed to horrendously complicated and exceedingly unpleasant. Sex had not seemed so frightful when it was with Hamilton.

John took several pulls of whiskey to chase away thoughts of sex with Hamilton. It worked the first few times, but after a tipping point - it might have been the third or fourth drink - it made him think about Hamilton even more. After his fifth drink, John could think of nothing other than Hamilton's lips. After his seventh, John could no longer remember why he had been denying himself the pleasure of Hamilton's company.

John's eighth drink led him to Hamilton's door.

He rapped his knuckles against the flimsy wooden door.

Hamilton opened the door after a short pause. His hair was unkempt. His eyes were bloodshot. His trousers were splotched with ink stains.

He opened his mouth. His question reached his eyes before it reached his lips. John had no interest in answering that question.

He surged forward, cradling the back of Hamilton's head with his right hand and pressing his lips to Hamilton's in one swift movement. If Hamilton was bothered by John's interruption, he didn't show it. He simply moved backwards slow enough that John could follow him into the room without breaking the kiss. John blindly swatted at the door until he heard it click shut.

They finally broke apart when Hamilton's knees hit the edge of his bed. Hamilton tumbled back onto the bed, knocking over an ink pot and crumpling several parchments. He looked up at John, grinning. John grinned back as he climbed onto the bed after Hamilton.

* * *

John woke the next morning to an unfamiliar room. He opened his eyes and looked around for a moment, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in his head and recall whose room he might be lying in. His question was answered when he laid eyes on Hamilton, who was seated at his desk. He was writing something.

John let out a groan, raising his right hand to rub at his eyes.

"You're awake." Hamilton looked over from his writing, and smiled. "Good morning."

"Water." John grumbled.

"Bedside table." Hamilton pointed his quill in the direction of the bedside table.

John turned his head just enough to look in that direction. Blessedly, a full glass of water was resting on the bedside table. Condensation streaked down the glass against the warm morning air.

"Mm." John mumbed his thanks as he rolled closer to the bedside table. Once close enough, he lifted the glass from the bedside table and brought it to his lips. He could have cried at the pleasant sensation of water touching his dry and cracked throat.

Hamilton rose from his seat at his desk. He crossed the small room and tumbled into bed beside John. John found that he still enjoyed being in such close proximity with Hamilton. He enjoyed feeling the heat radiate off of Hamilton's skin onto his own. He liked the familiar scent of Hamilton. He liked closing his eyes and knowing that Hamilton would still be there when he opened them.

"I am still angry with you." He said, mostly to curb his own enthusiasm about his renewed closeness to Hamilton.

"I suppose I deserve that." Hamilton remarked, nestling closer to John.

"You suppose?" John echoed, looking down at Hamilton with something nearing amusement.

"Hmm." Hamilton rumbled. He made a sleepy sort of sound as he stretched out his shoulders, then curled back up beside John. "I apologize, John. I have apologized, I do apologize, and I will apologize. I will apologize as much as you would like me to."

They were silent for a moment. Hamilton seemed content to doze with his head pressed against John's shoulder. John considered whether or not he would like Hamilton to apologize again. He decided against it.

"When must you leave?" Hamilton asked after a minute or two had passed.

Both of them understood that Hamilton was asking about the time which John must report for his wedding. John had not invited Hamilton to the wedding. He had been angry with Hamilton when he had furnished Washington and Lafayette with invitations right in front of Hamilton.

Even still, John was not so well disposed towards Hamilton that he would afford him an invitation. He was not at all eager to attend another party with Hamilton, given the outcome of the last party.

"What time is it now?" John asked.

"Ah…" Hamilton reached over John to swipe his pocket watch off of the bedside table. Once he had procured it, he settled back against John. "Six o'clock in the morning."

"I ought to leave soon." John supposed, shifting a bit to make Hamilton more comfortable. He lifted his left hand to card his fingers through Hamilton's hair. Hamilton relaxed at his touch.

"I imagine Mr. Manning will seek to achieve an officer's rank for you once you marry his daughter." Hamilton said thoughtfully. "It is only natural that he should believe his daughter deserving of a general."

"Perhaps." John answered guardedly.

Hamilton shifted, turning to focus those big, beautiful eyes of his on John.

"Promise me that you will not forget me when you rise above me in rank." He said.

"Hamilton…" John protested lightly.

"Promise me." Hamilton commanded.

"Okay, Hamilton." John sighed. "I promise you."

* * *

John and Marty were married on October 26th at two in the afternoon. Lafayette was in attendance. General Washington was not. Several members of John's family had come north from South Carolina to attend. Marty's family was represented in abundance.

The ceremony went by rather quickly. John could not recall a single thing he had said. All he knew was that he had, beyond a shadow of a doubt, married Marty. She led him rather forcefully towards the Manning's mansion for the reception in which they were to greet their friends and family as a couple.

While the ceremony had gone by in a flash, the reception seemed to drag on. John spent the whole time dreading the close of the evening, in which he was expected to retire to a bedroom with Marty. The dread was heightened by Lafayette's constant ribbing and Marty's occasional remarks about the children she planned to have with him.

Once the last of the guests either went home or retired to the guest rooms which the Mannings had made up, Marty looked to John expectantly.

"Shall we retire, husband?" She asked.

John hung his head.

"Yes." He forced himself to say. "Yes, my dear."

* * *

Two very long days later, John returned to Washington's office. He had been parlayed in the morning, and was only able to step through the door in the middle of the afternoon. He hoped that Washington would not mind. He was far too tired to tolerate much criticism at all.

When he opened the door, he first saw Hamilton. Hamilton's desk appeared overrun with parchment and books and broken quills. Hamilton looked up from his work briefly - as though he expected an unwanted disruption unworthy of his attention - then did a quick double-take when he realized it was John. A smile broke across his face.

"John." He said. "How was…"

"Hamilton, I need -" Washington burst through the door connecting his office to John and Hamilton's workspace.

He stopped when he realized that John was in the doorway. He looked John over for a second. A broad grin crossed his face. It was unusual to see Washington grinning, especially at John.

"Colonel Laurens." He said, his tone laced with out-of-character amusement. "General Lafayette has begun taking wagers as to whether or not you had quite deserted our cause for your new bride. Congratulations on your new marriage."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." John said, forcing himself to bow deferentially.

"I trust that you are of a suitable mind now to continue your employment?" Washington inquired.

"Yes, sir." John replied.

"Good man." Washington accepted John's word, then turned back to Hamilton. "Now, Hamilton. I need you to prepare our units for movement. General Lee attempts to dissuade me from moving, but I do not intend to remain here into the winter. If you must command General Lee to pack his possessions on my behalf, do so. See that we are ready to move on November 2nd."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton agreed.

"Good." Washington approved. He looked between John and Hamilton for a moment, then turned on his heel and returned to his own office space.

Once the door clicked shut, Hamilton returned his attention to John.

"You look tired." He remarked.

"I am." John accepted, scrubbing his face with his right hand. He sank into his desk chair, the sensation familiar in the most unpleasant way.

"I suppose that means that you have enjoyed the few days of marital life which you have experienced." Hamilton said. "Perhaps you will even expect a son in the near future."

"Oh." John blushed and rubbed at his eyes again. "No...well, I mean, _yes_, but…"

"John." Hamilton smiled bravely. He appeared determined to show John that he was not wounded by John's marriage or any requirements that marriage had thrust upon John.

John swallowed hard and nodded. He tried to collect his thoughts before speaking again.

"I did my duty, but only out of a sense of obligation." He said.

"Aha." Hamilton said humorlessly.

"I - I, erm, I thought of you."

Hamilton raised his eyebrows.

"I couldn't…" John cleared his throat awkwardly. "I could only think about you."

Hamilton's mouth curved into a smile. It wasn't the kind of smile which might suggest that Hamilton was laughing at John. John was glad of that. Instead, it appeared the type of smile which suggested that Hamilton was contented by John's words.

"May I sleep in your room tonight?" Hamilton asked, lowering his voice so that Washington would not overhear. "Have I been so forgiven that I might seek your company beyond one singular skirmish the night before your wedding?"

John flinched a bit.

In retrospect, he had felt badly about showing up at Hamilton's door the night before his wedding. He didn't feel guilty because he considered it a betrayal of Marty - Marty knew who he was and who he was not - but he felt guilty because when he had knocked on Hamilton's door, he had known that Hamilton would answer. He had known that Hamilton would consent. He had known that Hamilton would accept whatever morsel of love John was willing to throw at him.

It was exactly the sort of behavior which Hamilton had displayed when he had hurt John so. It made John understand more about the selfish nature of love and lust.

"Yes." John said, partially out of guilt and partially out of a compelling eagerness to have Hamilton in his bed once again.

"Does this mean that I am forgiven?" Hamilton asked hopefully.

"Not entirely." John answered.

He narrowed his eyes as he met Hamilton's stare, but his smile gave him away.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

General Washington moved his forces on November 2nd. He led the way, ignoring Lee's irksome complaints about the weather, about the lack of provisions, and about Washington's tendency to ignore his opinions. Lafayette and Hamilton flanked the moving outfit, ensuring that no men deserted while they were moving. John was left trailing behind at the back, which suited him just fine. He did not have to feign respectful diffidence towards Washington, and he could comfortably watch Hamilton as he talked and laughed with the men he outranked without fear of someone noticing.

As they neared the site which Washington intended to make camp, however, it became clear that something was wrong. Washington stopped the men before edging forward with Lee. All of the sudden, shots rang out. Horses screamed. Men began to break ranks, either to run toward or away from the chaos.

Again, John found himself under enemy fire.

He looked around apprehensively.

Lafayette was escorting Washington to a defensive position. Though John was predisposed to disliking everything that Washington did, he knew that Washington's distance was not an act of cowardice as much as a necessary evil. If Washington were to be captured by British forces, the war would be over.

Lee was standing behind a group of enlisted men, barking orders but doing nothing to assist them as they loaded muskets and began firing back at the British. John was fairly certain that Lee was just a coward.

Then John looked to Hamilton. Hamilton seemed to be the only officer getting his hands dirty. Not only was he fighting - he appeared to be _enjoying_ himself. He rode his horse - an old mare that appeared half-paralyzed with fear - through the field, his saber already red with blood. He moved gracefully. He did not flinch or hunch as bullets whistled around him. He acted as though he were simply enjoying another one of Lafayette's drills.

British soldiers started nearing John. His horse backed away, letting out a nervous whine. John pulled his own saber from its sheath and charged forward. He willed himself not to close his eyes despite his fear. He would muster the courage to do what he had agreed to do by receiving his commission.

It was his first time killing a man. It was frightening. John had watched as the man on the other side of his saber came to the realization that he was not much longer for the world. He could feel the man's anguish as he removed the saber from his chest. The movement caused blood and perhaps some organs, to pour out from the man's chest. He fell to his knees, defeated. When John tore his eyes away from the man, he saw that there were many other men charging at him, either to meet their fallen comrade's fate or to bring such a fate upon John.

With more than a bit of fear in his heart, John surged forward.

* * *

"You were superb, John." Hamilton remarked as they walked the length of the battlefield, searching for survivors who could be taken prisoner. Across the way, some of the enlisted men were stabbing the mortally wounded with their bayonets - putting men out of their misery.

John felt ill. The fresh smell of blood and the sounds of dying men calling out offended his senses. He wished that he could return home, or to camp, where he might enjoy a glass of wine and the sound of a piano being played.

He could not understand how men like Hamilton and Washington could proceed with their day to day affairs after having killed other men. He knew that Washington was responsible - ultimately, if not personally - for the deaths of scores of men. After watching Hamilton engaged in battle, John would not have been surprised to find that Hamilton's numbers were near Washington's. Yet both men maintained pleasant airs after battles and ate their meals just as heartily as men who had never known battle.

"I hope that this battle served as an example to General Washington of our qualification for a position of command." Hamilton continued. "For I believe we both acted with great valor and honor."

"Colonel Hamilton!" One of the enlisted men called out to them. "This man is still alive, but I am uncertain that he could survive the journey."

He was standing over a man whose leg looked like ground meat. John felt bile rise up in his throat.

"Let me look." Hamilton nodded in John's direction with a slight smile before stepping over a series of dead bodies to get to the soldier in question.

Once Hamilton wasn't looking at him, John allowed himself to squeeze his eyes shut. He tried to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose to stop smelling the scent of blood and dead flesh.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington's voice forced John to open his eyes again. He turned around to look at Washington. He was approaching from where he had been speaking with Lee and Lafayette.

"General Washington." John nodded deferentially.

Washington waved away the formality - it was an unusual act for him. Typically, Washington adhered strictly to the social graces which governed society.

"I suppose Hamilton mentioned asking for another command following this skirmish." Washington said, his tone grim.

John hesitated.

"Colonel Laurens, I am under no misconceptions about Hamilton's ambitions." Washington assured John. "While I admire your loyalty, it will not harm Hamilton's cause for you to tell me that he has expressed the idea once more any more than Hamilton has already harmed his own cause."

"He might have mentioned it, sir." John admitted unwillingly.

Washington sighed.

"Do not think me presumptuous in requesting that you assist me in deferring Hamilton's eagerness to assume a command." Washington shifted to stand closer to John. He lowered his voice confidentially.

"Why would I do such a thing, sir? Colonel Hamilton's ambitions are none of my concern." John replied, hoping that by enforcing a strict politeness on the topic of Hamilton, Washington might forget the matter.

Washington did not forget the matter.

"You saw how he performed on the field during the skirmish. He...well, I loathe to say this, but it is almost as though he was born for this particular purpose. He is naturally gifted in the art of war."

"If he is so naturally gifted, why deny him a command?" John couldn't resist asking.

Washington was right, after all. Hamilton did appear to be exceptionally talented at warfare. He understood military strategies with no formal education on the topic, he seemed to know what each man on the field would do at any given moment, and he had not yet been killed for all of his cavalier behavior.

"Because he has no thought for the care of himself or others." Washington answered. He stated as though it were something so obvious that anyone should understand why Hamilton would not be given a command. "If I gave him a command now, I believe that he and his men would perish during their first battle."

John felt his heart sink. He realized that, like Washington, he was just selfish enough to deny Hamilton an opportunity for advancement if it kept him alive.

"Your father-in-law has already begun petitioning me and many of my acquaintances for your advancement." Washington continued.

"I apologize, Your Excellency." John blushed furiously. "I requested that he refrain from making any petitions on my behalf, but it appears that he regarded my request as an appeal of modesty rather than honesty. I am aware that I have not yet contributed nearly enough to hope for -"

"You behaved very well today." Washington kept on talking as though he hadn't heard John at all. "You fought when you had to, but observed others and considered strategy when you were able to."

John looked at Washington, dumbfounded. He did not understand how a great general like Washington could be fooled into believing that John had been behaving in a manner which was consistent with any sort of military skill. John could only describe his conduct as "floundering." He'd killed several men out of fear and desperation, and he'd avoided the fight whenever it was possible. That was all.

"I will be watching you from now on, Colonel Laurens." Washington said. "If you continue to impress me, I may consider your appointment."

"I, ah...yes, sir. Thank you, Your Excellency." John bowed as Washington wandered off to help Hamilton examine the men who were just wounded enough to be questionable as prisoners of war.

* * *

"What was Washington talking to you about today?" Hamilton inquired that night.

Once they had arrived at camp, it had taken hours to set up camp. Outside of the quarters which John had been granted, the men could hear lower-ranking soldiers still working to patch together a suitable camp for their purposes. Blessedly, John and Hamilton had been permitted to get some rest due to their station.

John shrugged, looking away from Hamilton. He did not wish to lie to Hamilton, but he did not wish to receive the backlash that he knew he would receive if he was honest. Hamilton had been candid with John about his ambitions. John did not wish to tell him that he agreed with Washington's reasons for denying those ambitions.

"He spoke with me about the skirmish." He said.

"You were speaking for a rather long amount of time for such a short skirmish." Hamilton was not so easily deceived. "He spoke to you about an appointment, did he not?"

John sighed and forced himself to meet Hamilton's eyes.

"I did not welcome the discussion."

Hamilton frowned a bit.

"I know that you didn't." He replied, his tone growing less affectionate with each passing vowel. "And yet, I cannot help but think that your connection with the Manning family will render you a general whether or not you welcome the opportunity. Washington suggested that I should begin looking for a wife soon, as I am fast becoming one of the only officers who is not yet married."

"A wife?" John couldn't help but look at Hamilton in sheer disapproval.

He knew that it was hypocritical to ask Hamilton to remain unmarried for him. He knew that Hamilton needed a well-bred, wealthy wife to advance. Yet, it seemed horrific to John to even consider such a thing. He had just gotten Hamilton back. He had no inclination to lose him again so soon.

Hamilton smiled the sort of smile that reminded John of his hypocrisy.

"Washington suggested one of the Schuyler ladies." Hamilton said, stepping around any argument John may have wished to have on the matter. "I have encountered them a handful of times at parties, but have not had the opportunity to converse much with them. Do you know anything of them?"

John shook his head. "I fear I do not know much about New York society."

"What about your wife?" Hamilton pressed. "Would she not know the Schuyler family?"

"I fear I do not know." John said.

"Hm." Hamilton smiled again.

It was a knowing smile. They both knew that even if John were exceedingly well-acquainted with the Schuyler family - which he was not - he would never use such a connection for a task as contemptible as finding Hamilton a wife.

"Did you hear that we are to expect a new colonel tomorrow?" John hoped to change the subject.

"Yes," Hamilton waved off John's inquiry. "He's already here - Washington is introducing him to the officers tomorrow. His name is Aaron Burr."

"Do you know him?" John asked, trying to temper any jealousy which might arise from the conversation.

"I do." Hamilton seemed perfectly at ease. He was tracing his finger along John's chest, spelling out invisible words that likely had something to do with economics. "We met before I joined the war."

"What do you think of him?" John asked carefully.

Hamilton tilted his head and quirked a small smile.

"He isn't a very trustworthy friend, but he is smart and he is cunning. I am certain that he will make a fine officer." He answered.

"Not a trustworthy friend?" John looked down at Hamilton. "Has he done something to lose your trust?"

"Nothing in particular." Hamilton responded. "But all of his actions have indicated to me that he opts to befriend whomever best serves his objectives at any particular moment. All of his behavior is entirely self-serving. I do not believe I have ever heard him make a statement of his own interests before. He has a tendency to demur to make himself more agreeable to everyone, no matter their opinions."

"Hm." John couldn't help but smile.

At least there was one person in the world who he didn't fear losing Hamilton to.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"Colonel Laurens, Colonel Hamilton, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Colonel Burr?" Washington entered the office the next morning followed by a handsome man in an appropriate uniform.

Both John and Hamilton rose to their feet as a gesture of respect. John looked to Hamilton before looking at Burr. Hamilton and Burr were looking at one another, each man sporting an amused smile which suggested a malignant entertainment which each received from the other.

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Hamilton previously." Burr bowed towards Hamilton, still smirking. He then turned to look at John. "Colonel Laurens, I have heard much about your esteemed family. Congratulations on your recent marriage."

"Thank you, Colonel Burr." John nodded towards Burr respectfully.

Burr looked back at Hamilton. John looked at Hamilton, too. Hamilton was still smiling, but there was an iciness in his eyes that was unfamiliar to John.

"Colonel Laurens, Colonel Burr has requested that you show him around camp, as he is already well-acquainted with Colonel Hamilton and wishes to become similarly acquainted with you." Washington said, looking to John expectantly. "Colonel Hamilton, while your colleagues are otherwise occupied, I would like to have a private audience with you."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton agreed, his eyes shifting to the ground.

John looked between Hamilton and Washington and frowned.

"Colonel Laurens." Burr drew John's attention back to him. "Where shall we begin our tour? If you don't mind my assuming so, I believe it will end in my quarters?"

Hamilton's eyes snapped up to look at John. They resumed their icy nature. John turned to look at Burr, frowning.

"Yes, Colonel Burr, I will show you where your quarters are to be once we are through with the tour. Why don't we begin with the buildings surrounding these headquarters?" John suggested.

"Certainly." Burr replied agreeably.

John led him out of the quarters, sparing Hamilton one last glance before he left the man alone with Washington. He did not want to leave Hamilton alone with Washington.

"How long have you been in General Washington's employ?" Burr asked as John began walking him around the camp and pointing out buildings.

John looked at him in surprise. He had expected all of Burr's questions to be about the buildings or about his own job. He had not expected Burr to take any particular interest in him. John believed himself to be exceedingly dull, as people went.

"A few months." John answered.

"Do you enjoy working for the General?" Burr continued.

John tried to keep his expression neutral. He had to do his best to conceal his disdain for Washington and all of his airs. He did not like Washington, nor did he like working for Washington. He disliked the airs of propriety that Washington insisted upon, despite his exceedingly improper conduct towards Hamilton. He disliked the amount of work that Washington expected of two mere men. He disliked Washington's unpredictable temper.

"I enjoy working for the General thoroughly." He lied. "I find him to be a gentleman in every sense of the word, and an unmatched military mind."

"Indeed." Burr smiled as though he could tell that John was lying. "And how do you find working with Colonel Hamilton?"

"I find Colonel Hamilton an incomparable colleague." John tried to keep his tone even. "He is very good at the work that he does."

"Quite so." Burr agreed with a handsome smile that was not at all disagreeable. "I have always found Colonel Hamilton to be an exceptionally intelligent man. Though I could not bring myself to disagree with any decisions made by the General on military matters, I must confess myself surprised that Colonel Hamilton has not yet risen higher in rank."

John couldn't see why Hamilton had spoken so lowly of Burr. The man seemed perfectly pleasant and charming. Besides that, John was always glad for any reason to compliment Hamilton without fear of embarrassing himself.

"The General fears that Hamilton is too hot headed for an appointment just yet." John replied. "He has conceded to me - privately, of course - that Hamilton has displayed all of the qualities necessary for a leader, aside from a temperament which one would desire in a leader. The General seems to believe that Hamilton will learn patience after experiencing a few more battles."

"I suppose that is understandable." Burr remarked, tilting his head to the side and smiling a bit. "Colonel Hamilton does have something of a hot head. I will still maintain my hope that he rises to the occasion of the war, if not for the sake of his country, then for the sake of an appointment."

John smiled, too. It seemed that Burr's cheerful nature was contagious.

"I do hope," John said as an afterthought. "That you won't report the General's assessment to Hamilton. I don't believe hearing such news would make Hamilton appear any more level-headed in General Washington's presence."

"No," Burr chuckled. "I don't believe it would, either. You are safe to assume such confidences in me, Colonel Laurens."

John nodded, still smiling.

He liked Aaron Burr, he decided. He imagined that Hamilton did not like the man because, like Washington, Burr had told Hamilton 'no' one too many times.

"Would you like to see the stables?" John suggested.

"Yes, please." Burr replied with another charming smile.

* * *

"What did you and Burr talk about during your tour?" Hamilton asked as both he and John shed their uniforms for the evening. John was doing everything in his power to conceal his delight at the normalcy of settling down in his quarters with Hamilton at the end of a day.

"The buildings of camp and their respective functions." John replied with a shrug. "I must confess, I cannot understand why you are set against him so. He seemed perfectly amiable when I spoke with him."

Hamilton's eyes narrowed.

"He is charming." He said. "I will not contest that quality of his. I only meant to warn you that he cannot be trusted."

"And what did General Washington say to you in his private audience with you?" John inquired, turning to look at Hamilton as Hamilton tumbled onto the bed.

Hamilton grinned up at John from the bed.

"He wished to invite me to a ball which Philip Schuyler is hosting this weekend." He explained. "He says that you and Burr are to be invited, too, of course, but he will not be informing you until closer to the date. He says that he does not wish to give you time to invite your wife without the Schuylers' consent, and he does not wish for Burr to believe that military life consists of nothing but going to balls."

"He worries about me inviting my wife?" John could not help wondering.

Hamilton laughed. "He does not know what type of relationship exists between you and Mrs. Laurens. He looks to his own marriage as guidance."

John did not like hearing Hamilton say "Mrs. Laurens" with respect to his wife.

"So we are to attend a ball at the Schuyler mansion." John said. "Does this mean that you will make your desired acquaintance with one of the Schuyler ladies?"

"Yes, I believe it does." Hamilton replied without an ounce of guilt or shame. "I have been reminded that their names are Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy. Washington is under the impression that all of them are unmatched."

"Three chances in one night. How very fortunate for you." John snarked.

"John." Hamilton sat up on the bed, casting John a playfully stern look. "Do not forget that you, yourself, are married. It would be unfair of you to begrudge me a beneficial match after already having received yours."

John sighed and climbed into bed beside Hamilton.

"I only ask a single favor." He said.

"All right, John. Tell me what favor you seek." Hamilton replied, amused.

"If you must have one of the Schuyler sisters," John looked to Hamilton for confirmation. Hamilton nodded, grinning. "At least choose the ugliest one."

Hamilton laughed out loud. The sound of it made John smile against his will.

"I love you, John." He said, still laughing.

"I love you, too." John said, hoping that Hamilton would always be able to make him smile with such ease.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"You look handsome." Hamilton looked over at John as they prepared for the ball.

John met Hamilton's eyes and scoffed. While he couldn't contest that he had put more effort into his appearance than usual, it seemed comical for Hamilton to call _anyone_ handsome when Hamilton looked as utterly devastating as he did. John did not look like he belonged on the same continent as Hamilton, let alone in the same room.

"You do." Hamilton crossed the room to wrap his arms around John's waist and set his head on John's shoulder. He looked over John's shoulder at the mirror, where John had been staring at himself rather critically. "You are handsome and dashing. You look like a prince from a storybook. I have to tell you this now, before I am forced to cater to one of the Schuyler sisters all night long. I want you to know that, regardless of whatever attention I give another tonight, I will be thinking of little other than the way you look in this uniform."

John smiled as Hamilton pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

"I love you." Hamilton said.

"I love you too." John agreed. He paused for a second, then asked. "Will you love me more than your Miss Schuyler?"

"I'll love you more than all of the Schuylers combined." Hamilton replied without hesitation.

John let out a sigh, then stepped out of Hamilton's arms. He turned around to face Hamilton. He straightened a crooked badge on Hamilton's uniform. It was an intimate gesture, the privilege of which would soon belong to a young lady whom Hamilton met that night. John had to enjoy his entitlement to Hamilton and all of his intimate moments while he still could.

"Shall we?" Hamilton asked.

John let out a second sigh.

"I suppose we must."

"Yes." Hamilton agreed with a grim smile. "We must."

* * *

"I hear that you are hoping to court a Schuyler sister following an introduction this evening." Burr remarked as he, Hamilton, and John rode behind Washington, Lee, and Lafayette towards the Schuyler mansion. Washington and Lafayette were engaged in a conversation of their own and did not seem to hear Burr. Lee was still doing his best to avoid speaking to any of his fellow officers any more than was absolutely necessary.

Hamilton shrugged, neither confirming or denying the rumor. John tried to keep his face neutral beside Hamilton. He felt Burr glance at him before returning his attention to Hamilton.

"If you married a Schuyler, you would be one rich man." Burr remarked.

"It's not a question of _if_, Burr." Hamilton replied with his usual arrogance. "It's a question of _which one_."

* * *

It appeared that Washington had brought them to the ball a bit late. Everyone appeared to have already eaten; there was music and dancing by the time the officers arrived. The butler who answered the door asked Washington if they would like to be announced. Washington declined this offer. Instead, he told his subordinates to behave, then crossed the room to speak with some of the gentlemen whom he recognized.

"There's the eldest Schuyler sister - Angelica." Hamilton informed John, nodding to a beautiful young lady who was surrounded by several hopeful young men. She was wearing a pink dress and a wicked sort of smile.

"No." John decided immediately.

He could see Hamilton falling in love with that smile.

Hamilton chuckled, then nodded to another young lady. This one was standing on the outer fringe of the group surrounding Angelica. She was wearing a blue dress and was already looking straight at Hamilton with the same hungry sort of desperation that John felt for him.

"That's Eliza Schuyler." Hamilton remarked.

"No." John said again.

He did not trust Hamilton to steel himself against a woman who seemed to have already decided to love him.

Hamilton let out a playful sigh and turned to nod towards a young girl loitering on the side of the room. She was wearing a yellow dress. She was talking to another soldier, a lower-ranking soldier, and laughing. The soldier was laughing, too. She had pretty dimples and an air of gaiety.

John did not want anyone making Hamilton laugh the way he did.

"That's Peggy Schuyler." Hamilton said.

"No." John said for the third and final time.

"Colonel Laurens, you have left me quite without options." Hamilton reminded him, still grinning. "Surely there is a lesser of these three evils?"

John shook his head.

"I believe you could fall in love with any of them." He said.

"I thought that we discussed -" Hamilton protested lightly.

"We did." John agreed. "But it was simpler before I saw them."

"I must go speak with one of them." Hamilton said. "Or I will forever miss my chance. Please, John."

"Choose whichever one you like. I do not believe I possess the strength to make such a decision, myself. Only, please do not make me bear witness to your choice, whoever she may be. Allow me to dance with the married women and occupy myself while you do what must be done." John implored Hamilton.

"Of course." Hamilton nodded to John in a respectful manner which would allow John to exit his presence without fear of any appearance of impropriety. "Enjoy your evening, Colonel Laurens."

"And you, Colonel Hamilton." John nodded back to Hamilton before turning and walking towards the area in which most of the married women and widows were seated, talking among themselves whilst they waited to be asked to dance.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington noticed John walking past him and drew his attention away from his contemplation of which woman he was going to ask to dance. "I was just about to retire to the cards room with a few gentlemen. Would you care to join us?"

John could not hide his surprise. Washington had never sought to include John before. He had made his favorites abundantly clear to all - Lafayette and Hamilton. He would see to Lafayette and Hamilton's advancement, but that was it. He had not indicated that he would extend similar courtesies to the rest of his men.

"No, thank you." John replied. "I fear I do not have much of an aptitude for cards."

"Colonel Laurens." Washington's tone shifted. It was enough to let John know that his invitation had not been a request so much as a firm recommendation. "There are several men who I would like to introduce you to. I believe they will be useful for your advancement."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." John said hastily.

He hoped that Washington would not complain to his father about his impropriety in attempting to reject a game of cards. He hoped that Washington would not complain to his father about John's inability to remember all of the rules of all of the card games. He found being a gentleman to be a more troublesome enterprise than being a soldier was.

As he crossed the floor towards the card room beside Washington, he observed Hamilton talking to two of the three Schuyler sisters - Angelica and Eliza. Eliza was wearing the same lovesick expression she'd worn when Hamilton had first entered the room. Angelica's smile was not so wicked anymore.

Burr was lingering nearby, talking to a few pretty ladies who were not Schuylers. He regarded John with a nod and a smile as John passed by. John smiled back faintly.

"Now, who is this?" One of the gentlemen in the cards room remarked when John walked in with Washington. "Surely this is not the Hamilton who you were championing in your letters."

John wondered what Washington might have written in his letters that would have led this man to know that John was not Hamilton.

"No." Washington agreed with a small sort of smile that did not indicate amusement as much as it did a politeness that was common among gentlemen at such parties. "May I introduce Colonel John Laurens - Henry Laurens' son? Colonel Laurens, allow me to introduce General Philip Schuyler, Mr. Robert Rich, and Mr. Quincy Fields."

"It is a pleasure to make such esteemed acquaintances." John regarded each man with their own nod.

General Schuyler, the man who had been the one to know that John was not Hamilton, smiled kindly.

"Colonel Laurens - I trust that you are honoring your family name as you serve under General Washington?" He inquired warmly.

"I am certainly endeavoring to, sir." John replied.

"Good. Now, let's forget about our obligations for a little while, shall we? Sit down, gentlemen, and take out your purses." General Schuyler had a good humor about him that John found appealing.

The men took a seat. John sat to Washington's right. It was a position which was usually occupied by either Lafayette or Hamilton. John glanced at Washington out of the corner of his eye every so often, taking in the view that Lafayette and Hamilton were often treated to.

Washington set his own coins on the table deliberately. His expression was stoic. John glanced at the amount of money he'd put down as he reached for his own purse. Washington had laid down nearly five dollars. The other gentlemen at the table had laid down similarly lofty sums.

John had never been one for gambling. His father had always cursed the evils of gambling, excepting, of course, when it was gentlemen playing cards. John imagined that his father would encourage him to gamble in this particular instance. His father would want him to gamble if it meant brushing elbows with these important and successful gentlemen.

John set five dollars of his own on the table. It was nearly a quarter of the money he had left. He would have to write to his father, petitioning him for more.

General Schuyler dealt the cards. John glanced at Washington. Washington was watching General Schuyler with the sort of intensity that he watched just about everything else.

John did not get a very good hand. It was impossible to tell what sort of hand Washington received. His face was just as infuriatingly unreadable as it always was. General Schuyler looked pleased with himself across the table. The two men on either side of him did not look so pleased.

John wondered if it was a bad time to request that someone refresh him on the rules of the game.

* * *

The men played cards for about an hour. Washington was quick to pick up on the fact that John was not a very experienced card player. Instead of ridiculing John for his lack of social graces, which might have been well-deserved, Washington remarked upon John's lack of experience as though it was a thing of virtue.

"It appears that Colonel Laurens is one of the few young men in this country who has rarely, if ever, succumbed to the vice of gambling. Let us strive to emulate his virtue while striving to include him on this particular occasion." He had said, his tone kind. He nearly smiled at John.

The other men had approved of John's lack of knowledge, likely because Washington had framed his stupidity as something virtuous. They had all put away their coin purses and stated that they would follow John's example and would not gamble, but would instead play cards for the sport of it. They wasted their time struggling to teach John the rules.

During the card game, the men talked mostly among themselves, but sometimes volleyed questions in John's directions. They asked about his father. They asked John for his opinion about the direction the country would take after the war. They asked about John's wife. John did his best to answer their questions without making a fool of himself or Washington. Judging from the pleasant tone of Washington's voice, he was doing well enough.

Once the men were through playing cards, they returned to the ballroom. General Schuyler had apologetically stated that people were likely to begin to trickle out, and that he must make himself available to say goodbye to each of his guests. John was not sorry to be through with cards.

He remained at Washington's side as they exited the small drawing room which was designated for cards. He felt like a hunting dog, rather than a man, being forced to follow Washington around. He allowed himself to look around the ballroom as Washington scanned the room for other men to introduce John to.

Hamilton was dancing with the Schuyler sister in the blue dress. Eliza.

Both of them were smiling. Like Peggy, Eliza had two pretty dimples on either side of her mouth. Hamilton was talking in that animated way of his, his eyes sparkling. Eliza threw her head back and laughed.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington called John's attention like he would call one of his dogs. John reluctantly tore his eyes away from Hamilton and Eliza. "I would like to introduce you to a few men who are largely responsible for the war's funding. It is crucial that you impress them with your ability to speak on matters of gentlemen as well as matters of war. Do not mention money, but reassure them that theirs is not being squandered on this war."

"Yes, sir." John replied, uncertain of how to comply with Washington's instructions.

He followed Washington across the room, trying desperately not to hear the sound of Eliza's laughter chasing after him.

* * *

"Did you have a pleasant evening? It appears that Washington took an interest in you." Hamilton remarked as he and John shed their dress uniforms in preparation for bed that evening.

"I suppose. I am not altogether certain why he is suddenly concerned about my connections or my ability to play cards, but it was preferable to dancing with the married ladies all night." John answered with a small shrug. He hesitated before asking, "How did you find Eliza Schuyler?"

"I found her perfectly charming." Hamilton replied, smiling to himself as he folded his shirt. "She is not as intelligent as you or I, of course, but she is sweet and she is amiable. She had a pleasant laugh, too. It was sort of light and twinkly…"

John turned to look at Hamilton in disbelief. He had asked Hamilton about Eliza in order to receive reassurances about Hamilton's loyalty. He had not asked about Eliza to listen to Hamilton to gush about her light and twinkly laugh. Hamilton met John's eyes and immediately realized his blunder.

"I only meant to say that she would be a suitable companion." He said mildly.

"Mm." John agreed, climbing into bed without waiting for Hamilton.

Hamilton let out a sigh, then climbed into the bed after John.

"You're angry." He said.

It wasn't a question.

John shifted in bed, looking away from Hamilton. He couldn't deny that he was not thrilled with Hamilton, but he did not want to admit to being angry. He knew that he had no right to be angry with Hamilton. Hamilton deserved a wife who would elevate him to his rightful position. Hamilton had borne John's marriage without any grievances or accusations.

"John." Hamilton said, moving closer to John and trying to make eye contact. "John, don't be angry with me."

John let out a sigh.

"I am only doing my duty." Hamilton persisted. "If I were able to marry you instead, you know that I would. I would rush you to the altar straight away and never once look back. It is purely my unfortunate luck that I must marry a woman, and I must marry a woman of _status_. Eliza Schuyler fulfills that requirement suitably and is docile enough that she will not interfere with you and I. Indeed, I do not believe she will think anything of our friendship regardless of what she might see or hear."

John sighed again.

"I love you, John." Hamilton said.

There was a silence between them as John wrestled with his anger.

"Do you love me?" Hamilton asked, after a minute or two had passed.

John sighed for the third and final time.

"Yes." He said. "Yes, Hamilton. Of course I love you."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Hamilton wrote Eliza Schuyler a letter the day after the ball. John had asked if he would be permitted to read it. Hamilton had stated that it would likely be best for the both of them if John did not read it. John could not argue with such logic.

Three days after Hamilton had sent his letter, he received a letter from Eliza. Again, Hamilton lightly suggested some boundaries between his relationship with Eliza and his relationship with John. John appeared to be the only man at camp - barring, perhaps, Washington - who was not permitted to know the contents of Eliza's letter. The only thing he did know was that Eliza had consented to Hamilton writing her future letters.

He began to write her a letter every night, once he was finally finished with his work for the day. John watched him carefully crafting each word as though it carried a staggering amount of importance all on its own. When asked why he wrote Eliza a letter every single night, he responded with a smile that he could not risk her forgetting about him.

As though anyone could ever forget Alexander Hamilton.

After a few days, Eliza began writing Hamilton letters nightly as well. Hamilton came to expect them. He would watch the door to the office when mail was expected to arrive. His face would light up whenever he was handed a letter addressed to him in Eliza's childlike writing.

Each night, Hamilton would do his best to convince John that his courtship of Eliza was nothing more than a mere transaction. He would assure John of his love in all of the ways he knew how - though sex was a favorite method for him. John tried his best to believe him.

While Hamilton managed his courtship, John received a letter of his own. This letter was to Marty. It was a simple letter - typical of Marty. She did not trouble him by writing of any affection she might have felt for him, or desire she might have held for the war to be over so he could return to the home that Mr. Manning had gifted them upon their marriage. She got straight to the point.

_John,_

_I am with child. The women in the city seem to believe that the child will be a boy. I will write you with further news, if I receive any from my physician._

_Do all that you can to live through the war so that you might meet this child._

_Your loving wife,_

_Marty_

John did not look forward to telling Hamilton that Marty was carrying his child. The child served as evidence of his infidelity to Hamilton. A child meant that everyone would know what had transpired between himself and Marty the night of their wedding. It would remind him of what had transpired between himself and Marty the night of their wedding.

He only had one wish.

He wished for a girl.

He did not want to subject a boy to the same upbringing which he had suffered. A girl was free to express affection towards her female companions. A girl was permitted to remain at home instead of subjecting herself to the terrifying prospect of war. No one called a girl a coward. No one expected very much of a girl at all.

John tried to think of an optimal time to tell Hamilton about the child. He did not know whether Hamilton would even care at all. As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted Hamilton to care. He wanted Hamilton to be wracked with the same sort of jealousy that haunted him every time he received one of those fucking letters from Eliza Schuyler.

The opportunity ultimately presented itself one quiet morning when the two men were working on Washington's correspondence and other administrative affairs. Hamilton was hoping to encourage Washington to lead the British to Monmouth for battle. John could tell that Washington had his reservations. He also knew that Hamilton was hoping that, by suggesting a battle, he would find himself elevated to the position of an officer for the purposes of engaging in that battle.

Regardless, John had Hamilton in this quiet room. Washington was going to be out most of the day, speaking with Lee and Lafayette about their strategies for the next few months. It was still early in the day, which gave Hamilton more time to swallow the news before the question arose of whether he wanted to retire to John's quarters for the night, or his own. It was the ideal time.

John cleared his throat.

"Hamilton," He said. He could hear the apprehension he felt coming across in his voice. "I, uh, I have something I feel that I should tell you."

Hamilton snapped to attention. That was unusual for Hamilton. Typically, it took John three or four tries to achieve Hamilton's attention.

"You do?" Hamilton wondered. He shifted in his seat. "All right. I believe that I have something that I would like to tell you, as well."

"Oh?" John dared to hope that Hamilton's courtship with Eliza had been terminated.

She had been angry with him about the execution of Major John Andre, a man who had apparently courted her before being discovered as a traitor. She had tasked Hamilton with rescuing him from execution. Hamilton had appealed to Washington, hoping to commute Andre's sentence to death by sword instead of hanging - a gentleman's death. Andre had been hanged all the same, and Eliza's letters had stopped arriving for some days following.

The letters resumed after a week or so - John had supposed that Hamilton's persistence had worn her down - but now John allowed himself to wish that Eliza's anger remained. He hoped that they could not work through the difficulties of such anger. He hoped that Hamilton was once again his and only his.

"What is it that you wish to tell me?" John inquired as politely as he knew how.

Hamilton licked his lips and shook his head. "I would prefer that you speak first. I need a moment or two to get my thoughts in order."

John sighed. He did not wish to tell Hamilton about his child if Hamilton was going to tell him about his failed courtship. He did not want to remind Hamilton of his romantic obligations when Hamilton was so happily relieved of his.

Still, Hamilton was looking at him expectantly. John had to say something. He decided that he would simply downplay the news as best he could. He would remind Hamilton that, quite often, children did not survive childbirth, if not infancy. This announcement by Marty would likely not affect him until the child proved that it could survive beyond the age of six.

"Well, I…." John found it difficult to even mention Marty in Hamilton's presence. "I received a letter from Marty. It seems that she believes herself to be with child."

He could not bring himself to refer to Marty as 'my wife' in Hamilton's presence.

Hamilton's eyebrows leapt up. He had quite obviously not been expecting John's news. John frowned.

"Oh." Hamilton said. He had the good graces to recover quickly. He smiled and let out a small laugh. "Congratulations, John! I hope that your wife is in good health? I have heard that carrying a child can often be burdensome upon a woman's health."

"Yes, I, uh, I believe she is fine." John disliked talking about Marty with Hamilton, especially in such a proper way. "But I hope that you know that, if this child is a boy, my obligations to her as a husband are over. The only thing I needed from the marriage was a child. Now that she is with child, I am yours."

Hamilton cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"John, I…" He sounded as nervous as John. He looked at John with those big, beautiful eyes and frowned. "I am dining with Philip Schuyler tonight. I am asking him for Eliza's hand in marriage."

* * *

Hamilton left camp for the Schuyler mansion before the work day was through. Washington permitted it. Judging from the sad smile on his face, he knew what Hamilton was leaving to do, just as well as John did.

He wore his nicest, cleanest uniform. He had brought it to town to be cleaned days prior. John had assumed, at the time, that Hamilton's fastidious nature had prompted the service. Now, he realized that Hamilton had known for days that he would be asking Eliza to become his wife.

He afforded John a small, apologetic smile before leaving. Washington's presence prevented him from reminding John that the marriage was a business transaction, not a love connection. John forced himself to believe that, had Washington not been around, Hamilton would have reminded him of such. He forced himself to believe that it was true.

Hamilton was not present for supper. That was to be expected. He had only left a few hours prior. It was likely that he was sitting down for supper with the Schuylers now. He was likely sitting beside Eliza. He was likely nervous. John could picture him fidgeting with his hands and affording nervous smiles to everyone around him. He wished that he could be there to take Hamilton's hand in his and assure him that everything would be all right.

Hamilton did not return before the sun set. John wondered if he would still ride home in the dark. He decided that Hamilton would almost _have_ to return to camp. Surely it was not proper for him to remain at the Schuyler mansion after asking to marry Eliza. It would look improper for General Schuyler, it would look improper for Hamilton, and it would look improper for General Washington's forces. General Schuyler could not appear to be the sort of man who would permit a newly engaged couple to sleep under the same roof. Hamilton could not appear to be the sort of man who would make such a request. General Washington could not appear to govern the sort of men who would conduct themselves in such a manner.

John waited in his quarters for Hamilton's return. He found himself wrestling with his hopes. Part of him hoped that General Schuyler would reject Hamilton's request. He hoped that Hamilton would return to camp feeling broken and rejected. He wanted to piece Hamilton back together, telling him all the while that Eliza Schuyler had never deserved him.

Part of him hoped that General Schuyler would tell Hamilton that he could marry Eliza. He wanted someone, besides himself, to tell Hamilton that he belonged. Hamilton needed to be told that he belonged.

John stopped watching for Hamilton once the clock passed two in the morning. He had to get some sleep. He would have to wake up in three hours to report to work once again. He realized with some anger that Hamilton would not be returning to camp that evening.

Despite his best efforts, John did not sleep a wink that night. His mind was racing, speculating as to what Hamilton might be doing. Presumably, he and Eliza were now betrothed. Hamilton would not sleep in the home of a family who had rejected his proposal.

Perhaps Hamilton was still awake, talking and laughing with his new family.

Perhaps the rest of the Schuyler family was asleep, but Hamilton and Eliza were still awake.

Perhaps Hamilton was lying next to Eliza, the way he had laid beside John so many nights.

Perhaps Hamilton was telling Eliza that he loved her, the way that he had told John so many nights.

As the sun rose, John climbed out of bed and threw on the first clothes that he could find. He did not worry about his appearance. The only person he dressed to impress anymore was Hamilton. It appeared that such effort was wasted on Hamilton. Hamilton had shown him where his loyalties remained.

He trudged into the office an hour before he was expected. He observed the stack of parchment on his desk that never seemed to reduce in size. He pulled the first parchment off of the stack and set to work. He hoped that the work would distract him from further thoughts about Hamilton and Eliza.

Washington arrived at the office about half an hour after John had. It was five-thirty in the morning. Washington was dressed impeccably. He did not look even the slightest bit groggy. He did, however, look surprised to see John.

"Colonel Laurens." He remarked, his expression smoothing into its usual stoniness again. "Dare I ask what brings you into my employ an hour early?"

"I was finished with sleeping, sir." John replied simply.

Washington observed him for a second, then nodded. John hoped that Washington would not say anything about Hamilton.

"I appreciate your diligence." He said. "I would appreciate it if you begin with the budget sheet for food through the month."

"Yes, sir." John agreed, pushing aside the work that he'd already begun. He searched through the pile of parchment for the assignment that Washington had mentioned.

"Thank you, Colonel Laurens." Washington nodded towards him before walking towards his office.

John did not say anything. He was simply glad for the opportunity to do something other than think about Hamilton.

* * *

Hamilton returned to camp ten minutes before he was required to report for work in the office. John knew that Hamilton had arrived, because the soldier who had been assigned the duty to guard the camp arrived at the quarters and asked to speak with Washington.

"Is there an emergency?" John inquired.

Though John spoke with Washington daily, such a privilege was not extended to all of the men in camp. Most of the men who were not officers, in fact, were only permitted to speak to Washington either by invitation, or on behalf of an emergency.

"Not exactly, sir." The man looked uncomfortable.

John let out an impatient huff. He had work to do. He did not want to be burdened with the troubles of an enlisted man. He had his own troubles.

"Colonel Hamilton is at the gate." The man hastened to say. "I would recognize Colonel Hamilton anywhere, sir. You see, he has a very distinct appearance -"

"I know what Colonel Hamilton looks like." John cut off the enlisted man quicky. He did not need to hear an enlisted man tell him how uniquely handsome Hamilton was. He knew how uniquely handsome Hamilton was.

"Yes, sir." The enlisted man agreed, flustered. "It seems that Colonel Hamilton has forgotten the passcode to gain entry into camp."

"What?" John raised an eyebrow.

"I cannot let him in until he says the passcode, sir. General Washington commanded us to never let a soul in without the passcode, no matter whether or not we knew the men." The enlisted man was growing more agitated by the minute. "I am certain that he is Colonel Hamilton, because he -"

"He has a distinct appearance, yes." John agreed impatiently.

"Shall I let him in?" The enlisted man asked.

"I will speak with General Washington. Return to the gate and await further instruction. If Colonel Hamilton recalls the passcode before we arrive, permit him admission and trouble yourself no further with this matter." John said.

The enlisted man bowed deferentially towards John as John rose to his feet. He then hurried out of the office to return the gate.

John, on the other hand, approached Washington's office. He rapped his knuckles against the door, hoping that Washington would not be in a state in which his anger would get the better of him. He did not know whether or not Washington would be angry with Hamilton for forgetting the passcode. It was the sort of thing - an incident which could only happen to Hamilton - which might have made Washington furious, or might have made him laugh.

"Yes?" Washington asked from behind the closed door.

John cracked the door open and poked his head through.

"Your Excellency," John tried to read Washington's facial expression as he spoke. "It seems that Colonel Hamilton is waiting outside the gate and has forgotten the passcode. One of the current guards was just by, asking me what he should do."

Washington rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully.

"Is he certain that the man is Hamilton?" He asked.

"Yes, sir." John answered immediately. "He stated that Hamilton has a very distinct appearance which he would recognize anywhere."

"Hmm." Washington responded to the statement just as well as John had when he had first heard it. "I cannot be seen going to the gate for the sake of a forgotten passcode. It would cheapen my authority and would show a favoritism towards Hamilton which I would not like to demonstrate."

Washington was among the most vain men that John had ever known. He was constantly worrying himself with displays of propriety and gentlemen-like conduct. He rarely worried about doing the "right" thing so much as he worried about doing the "proper" thing.

With a sigh, Washington leaned back in his seat and appraised John.

"I would like for you to go to the gate." He said. "I trust you to properly identify Hamilton. If you believe the man at the gate to be Hamilton, I would like for you to walk outside of the gate. Remove all weapons from his person. Once his weapons have been removed, escort him inside the gate after giving the guards the passcode. When you and Hamilton are safely within camp, have him report to my office. I would speak to him about his forgetfulness."

John forced himself to bow just low enough to Washington to be courteous before exiting his office. He had no interest in rescuing Hamilton from the spot of trouble he had found himself in. He wanted the dignity of ignoring Hamilton upon his return to camp. Washington's command had quite ruined John's plan.

John walked across camp towards the gate. There were a gaggle of soldiers - including Lafayette - loitering near the gate to tease Hamilton. He was accepting the taunts with a good-natured smile.

"Gentlemen, I cannot help my forgetfulness!" John heard him crow as he approached the gate. "For I am in love!"

Hamilton's proclamation made John stop in his tracks.

_Love_.

_I am in love_.

A cold, slippery feeling crawled through John's chest. He wished that he lived in a society where he could have abandoned his task with no repercussions. He wished that he could walk straight into the stable, demand the freshest horse, and ride until he was far enough away from Hamilton to breathe again.

Just as John was contemplating his ability to desert his position without facing execution, Lafayette noticed him. He set to work shepherding the men out of his way. They parted like the red sea. Hamilton waited at the end like the promised land. John wished that he could just disappear.

Hamilton's boastful smile grew subdued as John approached the gate. John knew that he was wondering if John had overheard his proclamation. He could see the gears working in Hamilton's brain. _How am I going to get out of this one_?

John wished that he had never let himself love this man again. He should have learned his lesson after Washington. He should have learned that Hamilton loved whomever was convenient for him to love in the moment.

Though he was a slow learner, the lesson was now concrete in his mind.

He would never make the mistake of loving Hamilton so freely again.

He proceeded out of the gate. He was a mere few feet away from Hamilton. Hamilton was looking at him curiously. He was still smiling, but it was a nervous sort of smile. It was the kind of smile that a man only employed when he wanted forgiveness without fully knowing that his crime had been ascertained.

"Hello, Colonel Laurens." Hamilton said pleasantly.

"Hello, Colonel Hamilton." John replied stiffly. "General Washington has commanded me to relieve you of any arms you might have on your person. If you cannot remember the passcode, you may not enter the camp with any sort of weaponry."

"I have no weapons, Colonel Laurens." Hamilton responded calmly. "I was attending a dinner with my fiance and her family. I had no need for weapons."

"Except one little dagger for Miss Schuyler!" One of the enlisted men called out, laughing. There were laughs and wolf-whistles among the small crowd. Hamilton grinned unabashedly. John wished to leave with each passing moment.

"Let's go." He told Hamilton. He glanced up at the enlisted man who had visited the office earlier. He had returned to his position has a guard. "Forty six honeycomb."

The gate opened. John walked ahead of Hamilton into camp. He did not wait to see if Hamilton was following him. He made it clear that he did not wish to enjoy any sort of pleasantries. He wanted to return to work, where he would ignore Hamilton for the foreseeable future.

"John." Hamilton had other plans. "John, you must slow down! Are you angry with me? After all that we spoke about this matter, do you still hold any doubt in your mind that this is anything more than -"

"_Don't_." John instructed him, stopping dead in his tracks and spinning around to face Hamilton. Hamilton appeared startled by the abruptness of John's movements.

"Don't lie to me any more." John said through gritted teeth. "I am not some heartsick fool who will believe everything you say in private while ignoring everything that you say in public. I am through with your lies and your charming little sentiments that you tell everybody. You, Hamilton. I am through with _you_."

John's voice was rising without his noticing it. They were starting to draw the attention of other men.

"John." Hamilton rolled his eyes and dropped his voice. "You are drawing far too much attention to us."

He was dismissing John, as he had always done before this. He was hoping that if he treated John as though his expectations of honesty were unreasonable. John had no inclination to let him get away with it this time.

"Am I embarrassing you?" John demanded. "Do you wish that I would go back to silently pining for you - an obligation to you only in my quarters? Would you rather lock me away in a tower like a princess, available to you whenever you like without any further obligations of time, loyalty, or kindness?"

Now they were really drawing a crowd. The crowd included Washington. None of them bothered to even try to look busy. They loitered nearby, gawking at John and Hamilton unabashedly.

"John." Hamilton spoke through gritted teeth now. "_Lower your voice_."

"Poor Colonel Hamilton, so afraid of committing a faux pas!" John raised his voice as loud as it would go. He looked around the crowd, smiling frantically.

He no longer cared what happened to him. He did not care if everyone in the world knew that he had made the mistake of loving a man - of loving this man. He did not care if it cost him his position, or his life. He simply did not care.

Hamilton grabbed him by the arm and all but dragged him towards his quarters. All of the spectators began to buzz among themselves, as though the spell which had rendered them immobile was now uplifted. As Hamilton forced the retreat, John could see Washington following after them. His outward expression was calm, but there was a silent fury in his eyes.

"John, we have discussed this many, _many_ times!" Hamilton snapped, his face red with anger. "You promised me that you would handle my engagement as appropriately as I handled yours!"

"You promised me that it was a business transaction." John responded with equal venom. "You promised me that it was nothing more. Now I hear you shouting about love and ill-disguised innuendos and you expect me to believe that it is still meaningless? You think I am an idiot, Hamilton. You think everyone but yourself is an idiot!"

"Why is it that you insist on being so dramatic about _everything_?" Hamilton demanded.

He had raised his voice to match John's, now that they were an appropriate distance from the crowd. Temper made his voice flare and fray.

"If I had thought, when I first met you, that I would be suffering -" He continued, undoubtedly about to say something which they would both regret.

"Hamilton!" Washington cut him off before he could finish his statement. He had raised his voice to be heard over Hamilton, but he was suppressing his anger in an impressive display of self-control. "Take a walk. Laurens, I would have a word with you."

Neither John nor Hamilton could hide their surprise. Typically, it was Hamilton who received all praise and criticism from Washington. Until recently, John appeared to be of about the same consequence to Washington as a houseplant.

"Yes, sir." John agreed with some reluctance.

Hamilton looked between John and Washington in red-faced disbelief. He then let out a sulky huff that might have been funny under other circumstances, then turned on his heel and walked away.

As Hamilton retreated, John followed Washington to the headquarters. John hung his head to avoid making eye contact with the soldiers who were still staring at him. Their whispers stung his ears.

He stepped into the headquarters. Washington followed after him, slamming the door shut behind him. John wondered vaguely if Washington would thrash him.

Washington walked past John in the direction of his office.

Again, John followed him with reluctance.

Once they were securely within Washington's office without fear of being overheard, Washington moved past John to stand at his desk. John's shoulders dropped about half an inch. He was not quite relieved, but it would be difficult for Washington to hit him from behind a distance. He needed only worry about a verbal confrontation, as opposed to a physical one.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington started, sitting on his chair. He regarded John with a critical expression. "Would you care to explain yourself?"

John suddenly felt foolish. When Hamilton had been standing before him, seething mad and full of undeserved righteousness, he had felt much more confident about his right to scream as loud as he pleased. Now that Washington was confronting him for his behavior, it appeared in his mind to be a very childish thing to do.

"No, sir." John replied, his face red with embarrassment. "I let Hamilton get the better of me, I am afraid. It will not happen again."

"No, it will not." Washington agreed.

John tensed.

Washington's words made it sound as though he was to be discharged from his position without honors. Such an act would make John a social pariah, especially if the patriots won the war. Not only would the discharge be a stain on John's reputation - it would instantly ruin the life of the child in Marty's belly before it was even born. Any child bearing his blood or his last name would be subject to ridicule and exclusion.

"I am giving you your own command." Washington said.

"Sir, if I could -" John had begun to justify himself before processing Washington's words. When his mind finally did process those words, he stopped short. He blinked at Washington in confusion.

He had just publicly embarrassed himself, Hamilton, and Washington by default. It made little sense for Washington to promote him for this conduct.

"Sir?" John knew that it was not in his best interest to ask Washington what he meant by promoting him, but he could not help it. He was waiting for Washington to explain why such a promotion was not a promotion, but a punishment.

"I need a regiment in South Carolina." Washington remarked, pulling a piece of parchment from the drawers in his desk. He placed the parchment in front of him. It contained details about a command post designated to South Carolina.

"Ah." John recognized that this was a punishment.

Washington was moving John far, far away from Hamilton.

"The position will be effective immediately." Washington continued as though John had not said anything at all. "Most of the men whom you will command are already in South Carolina, currently training. I will send you with twenty more men from my own camp to journey with you, and to make for an easier transition."

"Sir," John protested. "While I am flattered by your faith in my abilities, I fear that I will not be suited for such elevation. I would rather remain with your troops, where I may remain nearer to my wife and -"

"Colonel Laurens, I am not offering this command to you. I am instructing you to accept it." Washington's tone left little room for argument. It left no room for argument, actually.

"But, sir...why?" Though John knew Washington's reasons, he could not resist asking. He wished for Washington to assure him that this was the correct path. He wished for Washington to hear his reasoning aloud and change his mind.

"Colonel Laurens," Washington sighed, adjusting his posture in his seat to look John square in the eye. "If you remain here, Hamilton will ruin your career."

"I beg your pardon?" John asked weakly.

Washington shook his head. "There is no use in feigning ignorance, Colonel Laurens. The entire camp is now excruciatingly aware of the relationship which exists between you and Hamilton. There has been idle speculation, but men do not act on idle speculation. You, however, have confirmed all of their gossip. If you are not elevated and removed from camp swiftly, you will be subject to ridicule. Once my men lose their respect for you, you will cease being useful to me as an officer."

"What about Hamilton?" John inquired. "Will you promote him, too?"

He did not bother denying the relationship which existed between him and Hamilton. Washington knew about it. Washington had known about it. It would have been childish to protest that particular matter.

"No." Washington replied. "Hamilton is too green for a command yet. I still believe that he and his forces would perish if I were to elevate him before he was ready. Hamilton's career is not worth risking the safety of my troops."

"But mine is?" John could not understand Washington's decision.

"You are more prepared to lead a troop than Hamilton. You are more level-headed and more empathetic towards others. You still have much to learn, but I believe you will learn those things without suffering major casualties." Washington replied.

"My family name has no bearing on your decision?" John knew that it was impudent to ask Washington such a question, but it had slipped from his mouth before he could filter it.

"You will inform the soldiers I have enumerated on this paper that they will be accompanying you to South Carolina. You are to meet with General Lee to discuss rations for your journey. You are to meet with Colonel Burr to familiarize him with your work. He will be your replacement until someone more suitable can be found. You leave in two days." Washington ignored John's indiscretion.

"Yes, sir." John knew better than to try to stretch the luck he had already been given. "Thank you, sir."

"Good day, Colonel Laurens."

"Good day, General Washington."

John bowed courteously before exiting Washington's office and subsequently, the headquarters.

Men continued to stare at him as John walked through camp. They would mumble amongst themselves, but none of them dared to voice their thoughts to John. John acted as though he was unaware of the stares and whispers. He continued towards the fields, where he assumed that he could find Lee.

His assumptions proved correct. Lee was shouting at men in the field while doing no work, himself.

"General Lee." John called out.

It was not decorum to shout at a higher-ranking officer, but it seemed that John was breaking all sorts of social graces that day.

Lee turned around, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Yes, Colonel Laurens?" Lee took care to emphasize John's inferior rank.

"General Washington has requested that I speak with you about appropriate rations for my journey with South Carolina, accompanied by twenty men." John said, looking around to see if any of the men who were to accompany him were present among the men working for Lee. They were not.

Lee raised his eyebrows.

"General Washington selected you to lead the militia in South Carolina?" He asked dubiously.

"Yes, sir." John did not miss Lee's unhappy surprise. He did not act in a manner which indicated that he shared Lee's surprise. He did not want to acknowledge that he did not deserve the command which he had been given.

"Hmm." Lee raised his eyebrows before shaking his head. "Very well. I will have the figures on General Washington's desk by the end of the day. As you can see, I am far too occupied to do much calculating at present."

"Of course." John said, with a hint of sarcasm.

Lee was not doing anything which would render him unable to calculate. He was merely observing other men working.

Still, John bowed towards him, then turned to walk in the direction of the headquarters. He did not know where he would find Burr. He had not gotten to know Burr well enough to figure out a schedule for the man.

Luckily, as John neared the headquarters, he saw Burr walking out of the building. He looked unhappy.

"Colonel Burr," John called from where he was standing. He tried to smile, despite the queasy feeling dwelling in his stomach. "I have been instructed to speak with you."

Burr's expression brightened at the sight of John.

"Hello, Colonel Laurens. I hear that congratulations are in order." Burr remarked. "General Washington has just informed me that you have been given command of some soldiers in South Carolina."

"Thank you." John's smile grew slightly more genuine. "Has he informed you that I am to show you my daily tasks? I apologize for leaving you with a fair amount of work, but it seems as though Congress never sleeps."

"There is no apology necessary, Colonel Laurens, for I am certain that however much work you leave me, I will leave double to my beneficiary following my own elevation." Burr replied with a chuckle.

He sounded so certain of himself that John suspected Washington had already promised him a command. He wondered if that was the reason why Hamilton disliked him so; he disliked anyone who seemed more capable of success than he.

"Shall we enter the office?" John suggested.

Burr's smile turned apologetic. "I do not believe that to be a very wise course of action, if you'll forgive my saying so, Colonel Laurens. It appears that Colonel Hamilton has begun his work for the day and is in a foul sort of way. It might be better for all involved if you and I took a turn about camp and you described my obligations to me."

John swallowed hard.

He realized with mixed emotions that he would not say goodbye to Hamilton before leaving. He knew better than to try to speak to Hamilton in the same day that the two of them had caused a scene, and he doubted that he would forgive Hamilton the next day. He doubted that Hamilton would bother trying to apologize.

"Very well." He said to Burr, forcing a smile once he felt Burr's eyes on him.

Burr nodded politely, then followed John as they set forth to walk around the camp.

* * *

"I want to go with you."

Washington had granted John leave to visit Marty the day following his argument with Hamilton and his subsequent promotion. The idea had been to tell Marty that he would be across the country for a substantial part of the war.

John had not anticipated Marty offering to move with him.

"No." John shook his head, dismissing the very idea. "It would not be safe for a woman in your condition to travel, even if there were not a war bringing the world down around our ears. I believe that you do not understand the extent of the war as it is - do you understand that we are likely to encounter British soldiers on our travels? I would not be able to defend you and control my men at the same time."

"Why should you have to defend me?" Marty demanded, outraged. "Surely the British soldiers would not shoot at a lady for traveling with her husband."

John sighed heavily.

"This is a war, darling. Soldiers have no care for women and children." He said.

"I cannot believe that." Marty sniffed.

"That is precisely why you may not come with me." John said.

Marty looked at him for a moment, sizing him up. John looked right back at her. She looked different, now that she was carrying his child. Her face had expanded in a way that was not altogether unflattering. She had ordered new dresses to accommodate her new form.

"Will Hamilton be going with you?" She asked. Her tone was petulant.

She had learned of John and Hamilton's relationship throughout the course of their marriage. She had found letters. She had seen John watching Hamilton at parties. She had noticed that John spoke of Hamilton when he would not speak of any of his other comrades. Marty was many things, but she was not the silly woman that men thought her to be. She had been able to understand John's attachment to Hamilton almost immediately.

"No." John replied immediately. He hoped that Hamilton's absence would reassure Marty that there was no need for her to accompany him to South Carolina. "Dear wife, I cannot -"

Marty sighed. She always sighed when John dared to direct a pet name towards her. They both knew that any effect that such pet names might have had in any other marriage did not have the same effect in theirs. Instead of being laced with affection, John's words were patronizing. It was his way of reminding Marty that she was his wife and not his commander.

"I am going." She said. She used the same tone of finality as Washington. "If you do not wish for me to ride with you and your men, I shall ride separately. I will have the servants pack my bags this evening."

"You cannot - it is not - ugh, Marty!" John did not hide his exasperation. Most of his friends' wives listened to them. He could not fathom why his did not. "It is not safe. Suppose something happened to the child?"

"Stop calling it '_the_ child,' John, it is _your_ child." Marty responded immediately. The venom in her voice resembled the venom which had been in Hamilton's voice the day before. It appeared that John could evoke palpable anger from those who claimed to love him.

"I will take care to ensure the safety of our child, but I will not abandon you to do so." She continued. "You need someone looking after you. I enjoy looking after you. Let me follow along and look after you. Perhaps you could introduce me to South Carolina society when we pass through."

John sighed heavily.

"Fine." He said. "Very well; you will accompany my men and I to South Carolina. I would prefer that you ride with me. When overseeing the packing of your bags, please request that your servants pack lightly for you. We do not have the resources to provide you a great carriage for the journey, and I will not borrow your father's. Further, you will not be permitted to require the servants travel with us. You may choose to retain them to care for the house in our absence, or temporarily relieve them of their employment, but they will not be permitted to go to South Carolina."

Marty chewed at her lip, considering John's words. John watched her, attempting a stony expression not dissimilar to Washington's. If he was going to command troops, he would need to learn to liken Washington's commanding presence.

"Very well." Marty said at last. Her mouth twisted into a satisfied smile. She had gotten what she wanted.

* * *

John returned to camp to find that Hamilton was in trouble. Remarkably, he was in trouble for something unrelated to their fight the previous day. This time, it appeared that Aaron Burr was involved in the trouble. There was blood protruding from Burr's lip. Hamilton was sporting a bruised jaw. Two other men, men whom John did not recognize, stood beside Hamilton and Burr as Washington spoke to them in that terse tone of his.

John tried to avoid notice as he walked towards his quarters to pack. He did not wish to make eye contact with Hamilton. He did not know if Hamilton was still angry with him, but John was still angry with Hamilton. He did not want to know why it was that Hamilton and Burr appeared to be at odds.

Unfortunately, Washington noticed John before he could make it to safety.

"Colonel Laurens," He did not sound pleased. "I would have you assist me in resolving a situation which has arisen in your absence."

John forced himself to look in the direction of Washington and Hamilton. Hamilton was glowering at him. Burr was looking down at his shoes. The other two men were watching John curiously, likely wondering if he would be more lenient than Washington.

"Yes, Your Excellency?" John approached the group of men reluctantly.

Washington nodded his head towards an oak tree a few paces away from where Hamilton, Burr, and the two other men were standing. He wished to have a private conversation with John before John was to confront the situation. John wondered if he was going to be yelled at, too.

"Colonel Laurens." Once a safe distance away, Washington spoke. His tone was controlled, but his displeasure was obvious. "It appears that you told Colonel Burr my reasoning for not granting Hamilton his request for a command. It also appears that Colonel Burr took great pleasure in reporting these reasons to Hamilton."

John's stomach dropped.

He had forgotten about his admittedly poor decision to discuss Hamilton's career with Burr while showing the new officer around camp. He had requested that Burr keep the conversation confidential. He now understood what Hamilton meant when he stated that Burr could not be trusted.

"I...I apologize, sir. I assure you, I did not intend to be indiscreet. Colonel Burr inquired about the properties which a man must possess prior to receiving a command, and I felt it useful to discuss Hamilton as an example." John hastened to explain.

Washington did not look moved by John's explanation.

"If you are to command men, you must learn to govern men." He said, not acknowledging John's statement at all. "I will leave you to punish Hamilton, Burr, Winters, and Mansfield."

"_Punish_ them?" John blinked. "Sir, I am not qualified...that is, I fear that I may not be...do you not think it inappropriate to punish men with whom I have worked so closely?"

His words conveyed a meaning which both men understood perfectly.

_Please do not make me punish Hamilton_.

"Men are like dogs." Washington remained resolute. "They must be governed as such. You may have favorites among your dogs, but you must never forget that they are still dogs. If you are to expect respect from your men, you must inspire it. Go punish those men. Be fair where you can, and firm where you must. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." John answered weakly.

"Good." Washington nodded slightly. "I will return to my quarters. I will not be available to assist you, should difficulties arise. You must do what is required to control the situation, yourself."

"Yes, sir." John felt worse with each passing moment.

Washington walked off in the direction of the headquarters. John glanced over his shoulder at Hamilton, Burr, and the other two men. They were looking at one another in confusion. Hamilton dared to speak. He was not supposed to speak unless he had been given express permission to do so.

John approached the small group on shaking legs. He tried very hard to appear regal and commanding. Judging from the expressions on Hamilton and Burr's faces, he was not successful.

"Gentlemen." He said. His voice shook. "General Washington has seen fit to instruct me to issue punishments to each of you as I find appropriate. I am certain that you have discussed your infractions with General Washington previously, but I would appreciate it if you could discuss them once more with me."

Hamilton's glare gave way to surprise. It was not the pleasant sort of surprise. It was a look that neared disgust. Burr, on the other hand, looked happily surprised by the change. The other two men did not seem affected. They did not know John; they did not know if they would receive a lighter punishment from a men less severe than Washington, or if they would receive a loftier punishment from a man hoping to impress Washington.

"No." Hamilton said once he had processed John's words. "You are not my commanding officer. I am under no obligation to answer to you."

John could not profess to be surprised by Hamilton's rejection of his authority. Hamilton was hot-tempered and he and John were not on the best of terms. However, John knew that he could not accept Hamilton's insubordination. Washington would be most displeased if he heard that John had cowered to Hamilton so easily.

"Colonel Hamilton," He tried to draw himself up, to be a bigger presence than he was. "I fear that you do not understand the gravity of your words. If you do not assist me in the task which General Washington has given me, I will be forced to punish you more severely than I otherwise would."

Hamilton glared at John. John stared back at him, hoping to appear resolute despite his nerves. They stared each other down for a few moments, sizing one another up. John blinked first. Perhaps that was why Hamilton took the gamble that he did.

"I will not." He said.

John felt his heart sink in his chest. He looked at Hamilton for a moment, allowing his expression to soften as he silently pleaded with Hamilton to reconsider. He might have been angry with Hamilton for loving Eliza better than him - something which he disliked admitting, even to himself - but he did not want to see Hamilton hurt.

Hamilton did not reconsider his course of action. John let out a sigh.

"Very well. Colonel Hamilton, you are consigned to twenty lashes before these men. Gentlemen, if you wish to follow Hamilton's example, you will see a similar punishment. Now, Colonel Hamilton, if you would remove your shirt and prepare yourself while I find a man to commit the lashings." John's words tasted like vinegar in his mouth.

He turned to look for the man who usually dealt with the lashings. The act permitted him the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths. The act of condemning Hamilton to a punishment made him feel ill.

"You will not enforce your own punishment yourself, _sir_?" Hamilton inquired, his tone one of extreme disdain and disrespect.

John did not answer Hamilton as he beckoned the man who would do the lashings. He could not answer Hamilton. To answer Hamilton would be to admit his cowardice. He was a coward. He could not bear to shed a drop of Hamilton's blood himself.

The lashing man reached John.

"Colonel Laurens?" He asked, looking at the four men standing before John curiously.

"Colonel Hamilton has earned himself twenty lashes." John said, not looking at Hamilton. "I would appreciate it if you would provide your services."

"Yes, sir." The man agreed. "I will retrieve a switch from the trees and return momentarily."

John nodded to himself.

As they waited, John turned to look at Hamilton again.

_Just apologize_, He urged Hamilton with his eyes. _If you would only apologize, we could avoid all of this unpleasantry. I would even forgive you for Eliza. Just apologize and we will move forward._

Hamilton stared back at him resolutely. It was clear that he would not apologize.

The man returned with a switch. It was a substantial switch. He looked at Hamilton. Hamilton was not looking back at him. Hamilton was sizing up the switch with a grim acceptance that might have been admirable if his stubbornness had not been to blame for his punishment.

"Colonel Hamilton, if you would please stand against that tree." The man gestured towards the oak tree under which John and Washington had spoken a few moments ago.

Hamilton shed his jacket and his shirt swiftly. He tossed them back to Burr. Burr caught them, shaking his head with a slight smile. Hamilton then walked towards the tree. John and the man who was to lash him followed him closely.

"Shall I lean against the tree?" Hamilton asked the man, pointedly ignoring John.

"Yes, sir." The man did not seem pleased with the prospect of lashing an officer. "And if you could spread your arms apart."

"Certainly." Hamilton did as he was told.

John watched the muscles in his back flex as he moved to assume the position required for a lashing. He looked at the taut expanse of Hamilton's back. It seemed a crime to ruin something as beautiful as Hamilton's back.

Just as he began to consider asking the man to go away and finding another way to deal with Hamilton, the switch cut into Hamilton's back. Streams of blood pricked up across the skin.

John looked at Hamilton's face. His arrogant expression had vanished. In its place was an expression that depicted great agony. He grit his teeth together as the man laid a second lash against his back. He did not cry out. Hamilton was too proud to cry out.

A third lash fell against Hamilton's back. John felt the bile rise up in his throat. He was supposed to bear witness to this seventeen more times. He could not tolerate such a thing.

Hamilton looked over to John between the third and fourth lash. John tried to meet his eyes - he felt as though he had an obligation to face Hamilton, after ordering the punishment - but as he watched Hamilton's face contort in pain once more, he found that eye contact was just as unbearable to him as the lashings were to Hamilton.

"Enough." He said, just before the fifth blow came.

The man paused, the switch drawn back and ready to strike again.

"Sir?" He inquired. "I was under the impression that Hamilton was meant to receive twenty lashings."

"Four is sufficient, this time." John said, struggling to keep his voice consistent.

The man bowed. "Very well, sir."

"Thank you." John dismissed the man readily.

As the man retreated, leaving behind the bloodstained switch, Hamilton's posture crumpled. He did not fall to the ground, but his shoulders slumped down and his arms hung down at his side. He winced as he turned around to face John straight-on.

"Visit the medic." John instructed him.

Hamilton looked him up and down for a moment before nodding to himself. He turned and began walking in the direction of the camp medic. He was walking much slower than usual. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain.

John forced himself to turn around and look at the other men. Burr was still holding Hamilton's shirt and jacket. He no longer looked amused. John took a deep breath before approaching them again.

"I would appreciate it if someone would tell me about the incident which Colonel Hamilton refused to discuss." John said.

He did not need to ask a second time.

"Colonel Hamilton and I got into a disagreement." Burr hastened to explain. "In the course of this disagreement, some...regrettable things were said. I mentioned your appointment to command troops in South Carolina, and may have mentioned General Washington's unwillingness to appoint Colonel Hamilton to a similar command."

"I see." John frowned. "I believe that you and I agreed upon the confidential nature of General Washington's opinions, Colonel Burr."

"We did." Burr agreed, lowering his eyes. "I apologize, Colonel Laurens."

"Hm." John turned to the two other men while struggling to come up with a suitable punishment for Burr. "And who are you two? Why is it that you entered into the scenario?"

"I am Mr. Winters, sir." One of the men said.

"I am Mr. Mansfield, sir." The other said.

Both of them were enlisted, judging from their attire.

"Very well - Mr. Winters, Mr. Mansfield. How is it that you became involved with Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Burr's disagreement?"

"Well, Colonel Hamilton struck Colonel Burr, sir." Mr. Winters replied apprehensively. "We saw Colonel Hamilton hit 'im when we was walkin' over to do our drills. We saw 'im and we thought, that can't be right. So we went over to see if Colonel Burr needed our 'elp and next thing we knew, we were tryin' to keep 'em apart and gettin' involved, ourselves."

John could picture the scene all too well.

"I see." He said. "In light of your explanation and your willingness to assist both Colonel Burr and Colonel Hamilton in the midst of their failure to adhere to decorum, I will permit both of you to return to your obligations without any further punishment. See that you do not get involved in any further disputes."

"Yes, sir." Both men chorused, hurrying off before John could change his mind.

That left Burr. John still had not thought of an appropriate punishment for Burr. Lashings would not be appropriate, as Burr had cooperated better than Hamilton had.

"Colonel Burr." He spoke without quite knowing what he would say.

Burr looked nervous. John wondered if Burr knew that John was nervous, too. It seemed foolish for both men to put themselves in a position which both of them disliked. Burr did not wish to be punished. John did not wish to punish Burr. He wished that Washington had never promoted him.

"You are to go tonight without eating supper. I would also request that you maintain distance between Colonel Hamilton and yourself as best you can while still achieving the duties of your office." John said.

It seemed like the sort of punishment for a naughty child - instructing one to go without dinner - but it was the best that John could think of. Food was a priceless entity at camp. Though missing one meal would not ruin Burr's health, it would be a punishment that was acutely felt.

Burr ducked his head in a respectful gesture. He seemed aware that, compared to Hamilton, he had gotten away without too severe of a punishment. He had the sense to be grateful.

"I understand. Thank you for your consideration of the matter, Colonel Laurens."

"You are most welcome, Colonel Burr." John nodded towards Burr before departing the scene.

He wished to be away from the patch of dirt currently absorbing Hamilton's blood. He wished to be away from the clothes which Burr was still holding. He wished to return to his quarters so he could cry.

Instead, he went to headquarters to report to Washington. Though Washington had not explicitly requested a report, John felt that Washington would want to know about Hamilton's punishment, at the very least.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington regarded John with an appraising look as he entered his office. "I expect you did not have too much trouble distributing punishments?"

"Colonel Hamilton gave me some trouble, Your Excellency." John replied regretfully. "He refused to tell me why he and Colonel Burr had fought, and the extent of the fight. I warned him several times that, in failing to do so, he was being insubordinate. After those warnings, I was forced to assign him lashings."

Washington sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful.

"How many?" He asked.

"I assigned twenty. Five were committed." John answered, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. "He seemed to understand the gravity of his conduct after five."

"Indeed." Washington replied.

"May I visit Hamilton in the medic's tent, sir?" John inquired. "I wish to see that he is not too grievously wounded."

"If you must." Washington replied, his tone implying that such a course of action was not advisable. "Before you go, I would tell you that I approve of the manner with which you conducted yourself. I anticipated that Hamilton would give you trouble. He once gave me trouble under similar circumstances. He is the sort of man who must be reminded that he may not achieve all that he wishes by...ahem..._unconventional_ means."

"Yes, sir." John disliked Washington stating that Hamilton needed to be punished because he slept with his superiors.

"Dismissed." Washington said.

"Thank you, sir." John nodded courteously before exiting the headquarters.

He walked briskly through the camp, ignoring the looks and whispers which accompanied him. He knew from the fearful looks he received from the enlisted men that word had gotten around about Hamilton's lashing. John could imagine what the enlisted men were thinking: _if he would do such a thing to Hamilton, he would certainly do it to me_.

He poked his head in the medic's tent and found Hamilton sitting alone on a cot. His shirt was off. His posture was relaxed. The medic was nowhere in sight.

"Colonel Hamilton." John maintained a formal and distant tone, just in case the medic happened to be lingering nearby.

Hamilton's posture tensed.

"Colonel Laurens." He said, sizing John up. "Have you come to fetch me for my remaining twenty-one lashes?"

"No," John dropped his eyes to his shoes. "Colonel Hamilton, I wish that I had not been forced to employ such measures -"

"_Forced_?" Hamilton gave a humorless laugh. "I suspect you enjoyed punishing me far more than you let on. Tell me, John. Were you punishing me for insubordination, or for my engagement to Eliza Schuyler?"

"I did not wish to punish you." John insisted. "Not for your insubordination, or otherwise. General Washington instructed me to punish you if you did not acknowledge the authority he had given me. I protested, but -"

"Heaven forbid you risk the command you gained for something so trivial as a mere punishment." Hamilton interjected, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hamilton." John said with a small shrug. "That is all I can say."

Hamilton looked away from John, his scowl deepening.

"You did not tell me that General Washington had discussed my career with you." He said, his tone petulant. "You told Colonel Burr, but you did not tell me."

"I did not know how to tell you." John replied. "I knew that you would consider it a betrayal on my part that I so much as entertained the conversation. Beyond that, I feared that you would respond to General Washington's criticisms in a manner which would be precisely consistent with his criticisms. I was hoping to -"

"Protect me?" Hamilton interrupted John yet again, his tone cynical.

John shrugged, helpless.

"Though you might be superior to me in title, Colonel Laurens, I have done very well for myself without your protection." Hamilton responded.

"I had no intention of patronizing you." John insisted.

"I believe that you should return to your quarters." Hamilton said. "If it would please you to do so - _sir._"

"Hamilton." John protested. "I do not wish to leave you on such terms."

Hamilton shrugged. He was behaving like a petulant and stubborn child. John was torn between the urge to cry and the urge to strike this foolish man for behaving so.

"Please, Hamilton." John tried again. "_Please_."

Hamilton turned away.

John nodded to himself, desperately trying to accept Hamilton's rejection.

With some difficulty, he turned towards the entrance of the medic's tent. He walked slowly towards the exit, hoping that Hamilton would speak up. He hoped that Hamilton would say something sufficient to give John pause. He hoped that they would reconcile before John left. If they could not repair their relationship - John was uncertain that he wanted to repair the relationship - John wished that they could pursue friendship. He still wanted to be Hamilton's friend.

Hamilton did not speak up.

John left the medic's tent without a single word of reconciliation.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

**John Laurens**

John left camp before the sun rose the next day. Lafayette and Washington were there to see him off. Hamilton was notably absent. John struggled to maintain a cheerful demeanor despite Hamilton's obvious rejection of the relationship he had once fought for.

He looked behind him only one as he departed, in the hopes that Hamilton would come running out of his quarters with unkempt hair and a breathless explanation that he had unintentionally overslept. No such thing happened. John rode off into the morning without laying eyes upon Hamilton.

He first rode to his and Marty's estate in New York. There, Marty had the servants prepare a magnificent assortment of breakfast foods for the twenty soldiers accompanying John to South Carolina. John had not expected such a breakfast. He had rather hoped to get the journey over with as soon as possible.

"Sit down, husband." Marty encouraged him as the rest of his men eagerly fell upon the food. "Let us take this one last opportunity to enjoy gentle company before we are to live among these titans for an indeterminable period of time."

She cast the soldiers a winsome smile. The soldiers were quite obviously pleased at being called "titans." They grinned at one another, some laughing, some nudging one another's shoulders. Marty turned her smile on John. She was clearly hoping to impress him by pandering to his soldiers. John wished that she would emulate Martha Washington's distant, yet polite behavior.

"Yes, wife." He mumbled, taking his seat at the table.

"While my husband eats, I would appreciate it if you men would each introduce yourselves. I am acutely aware of your familiarity with one another," Marty's eyes fell upon John. John tried to ignore it. "But I cannot boast such familiarity. I would like to learn all of your names so I might speak with you person to person, instead of speaking to a nameless soldier."

Each of the soldiers willingly introduced themselves to Marty. Marty had the nerve to approach each soldier as he introduced himself and exchange pleasantries about his family and home state before moving on to the next. John might have rolled his eyes, had he not been in command of these men. Marty was conducting herself like a foolish little girl. She was not behaving as the wife of a commanding officer ought to.

After nearly two hours of insufferable small talk and greasy breakfast foods, it was finally time to depart for South Carolina. Marty bid a tearful goodbye to the servants. The soldiers looked on, their hats in their hands. It was an unusually respectful gesture during such a ridiculous scene.

John helped Marty onto her horse. She had done as he had asked and packed light.

Once both Marty and John were atop their horses, they started for South Carolina. John held onto the map, despite Marty's continual offers to carry it while he managed the soldiers.

While John guided the soldiers in the direction of the south and barked orders to remain in formation, Marty conversed freely with the soldiers on either side of her. She seemed to enjoy the company of these enlisted men. John cast her glances of disapproval every so often. Whether Marty noticed - or, indeed, even cared - John could not say.

* * *

They rode for nearly ten hours before John found a suitable location to set up a temporary camp. Marty had not complained at all during those hours. It had been John who determined when to pause, and when to distribute rations. Marty did not protest her own ration of soldiers food.

John set up his and Marty's tent. Several soldiers offered to perform the service for John - men who were hoping to rise in the ranks by ingratiating themselves with their officers - but John wished for his soldiers to witness his proficiency. He hoped that if they witnessed such displays of capability, they would forget the scene they had witnessed between Hamilton and himself just a few days prior.

"Thank you, husband." Marty said when the tent had been raised.

She took John's hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze as they both looked at the tent. John looked down at his hand in surprise.

"I feel as though we are beginning a new chapter." Marty told him, her mouth curving up into a gentle smile. Her eyes shone with sickly sweet adoration. John had to look away from her.

"I am glad that it pleases you to accompany me." He said.

He did not know how to be a husband. It had been much simpler when Marty was a distance away from him. He could write love letters just as well as anyone else, so long as he pretended that he was writing it to Hamilton. He could not, however, feign love when Marty was standing before him, her stomach swollen with his child and her expression one of ardent desperation.

"I would accompany you anywhere." Marty leaned into his side. John's shoulders tensed. "You only need ask."

John held his tongue, narrowly resisting the urge to remind her that he had not asked her to accompany him to South Carolina at all. In fact, he had instructed her to remain in New York while he went to South Carolina. He wished that she would always be an arm's length from him, so he might maintain his freedom while benefiting from the advantages of marriage.

"Shall we rest?" John asked, instead. "I fear that today was rather taxing on you and the baby. I cannot promise that tomorrow will be any less taxing."

"Our child is strong." Marty replied, looking up at John with those big, brown eyes. "Like his father."

John cleared his throat. He could feel his face reddening. He disliked Marty's constant adoration. He did not know how to respond to anything that she said. It seemed that he could only reply to professions of love when he felt similarly. It seemed that he was only capable of conversations about love when they were with Hamilton.

"Shall we?" He gestured towards the tent entrance.

Marty smiled and nodded, walking into the tent. John followed after her, feeling the blood drain from his face with each step.

* * *

**Alexander Hamilton**

Alexander watched John leave from the window of his quarters. He could not bear to go out and stand between Washington and Lafayette while he watched. He could not bear to face John - not after all that had been done and said in the days prior.

He was furious with John for subjecting him to the lashings. It had not been the lashings which had injured him - though his back was still scabbed and aching from those lashings - but it had been the way that John had brought them about. John had humbled him in front of all of the men - John had acted as though Hamilton were nothing more than a bug beneath his boot to be dealt with swiftly and severely. He had treated Hamilton as a subordinate rather than an equal on his very first day as a commanding officer.

Alexander was furious with himself, as well. He had been too proud to accept John's apology. He had known that it was a sincere apology. John could be accused of many things, but insincerity was not one of them. After rejecting John's apology, Alexander realized that he had boxed himself in. He could not burst out of his quarters and say goodbye to John, acting as though nothing had transpired between them. He would be forced to wait for another sign of goodwill from John. John would have to endeavor to apologize again, if their relationship was to be salvaged.

He watched John's departure until he could no longer see the golden coat of John's horse. Once John was out of sight, Alexander let out a small sigh and set to work readying himself to appear at the headquarters. He had been awake for hours working - he was unable to sleep very well while suffering the remnants of the lashing on his back - but had not yet stepped out of his own quarters.

He took special care to fix his hair just so and ensure that his uniform was without a speck of dirt. Though some soldiers accused him of vanity, Alexander recognized the importance of appearances. If he were to arrive at headquarters looking rather disheveled, Washington would know that he had not slept the night before. Washington may have been foolish, but he was no fool. He was intelligent enough to realize that Alexander's lack of sleep was attributable to John's departure. Alexander could not allow Washington to come to the understanding that he loved John above all others. To allow such a thing would put his own chances of a command in jeopardy.

"Colonel Hamilton." Washington regarded Alexander when he arrived to the headquarters. Burr was not yet present. Alexander found some comfort in that. "I fear you have narrowly missed Colonel Laurens' departure. I hope you are not too distraught."

"No, sir." Alexander replied, keeping his voice level. "I hope that Colonel Laurens enjoys safe travels."

"As do I. It appears that he is bringing his wife along. We discussed the challenges of traveling with a woman in her condition, but Colonel Laurens was adamant that she be included. I pray they both find safety for the sake of Mrs. Laurens and the child." Washington said.

He was trying to provoke Alexander. Alexander recognized that well enough. Since Washington learned of his relationship with John - a dreadful night, that one - he was constantly mentioning John in Alexander's presence. He seemed to favor discussing John's wife above all other aspects of John's life. Alexander knew better than to rise to the bait.

"I am certain that Colonel Laurens will go to great lengths to ensure the safety of his wife and child." He agreed mildly.

The thought of some woman carrying John's child was nearly enough to cause Alexander to break from his studied airs of propriety. He had loathed the woman - Marty, as John called her - from the moment that John had mentioned their engagement. He knew that John would favor his wife over Alexander. John was a good man who understood his obligations. Still, he had taken comfort in the knowledge that John did not love his wife as he loved Alexander. John had told him as much on several occasions. Now that the woman was to provide John with a son, however, that love was destined to change. Alexander knew that no man could resist loving a woman who provided him with a son.

Washington observed Alexander for a moment, his sharp eyes searching for something which he could not seem to find. He gave up after a moment, settling his posture and nodding his head slightly.

"I would appreciate assistance on the financing that the French have offered us." He said, nodding to a few pieces of parchment on Alexander's desk. "General Lafayette assures me that the plan from Rochambeau is wise, but I would like a second opinion."

"Yes, sir." Alexander agreed.

"And Alex," Washington glanced around before addressing Alexander so informally. "I would appreciate it if you would visit my quarters this evening."

Alexander hoped to keep his face from betraying his emotions. He was painfully aware that Washington had sent John away, at least in part, to force Alexander to return to his quarters. Alexander had made little secret of his preference for John. Washington was a necessary evil. John was a terrific adventure.

"Yes, sir." Alexander murmured.

Despite his disinclination to maintain any sort of romantic relationship with Washington, he needed to keep the man happy if he had any hopes of achieving a command before the war ended. Marrying Eliza Schuyler would not be sufficient alone to elevate him to the highest ranks of society.

"Very good." Washington looked pleased. "I will let you tend to your work."

"Thank you, sir." Alexander said, looking down at the parchment on his desk.

* * *

Burr arrived at the office at six in the morning - the reporting time required of all soldiers. Alexander watched him with disapproval. Washington expected his aides to appear at least an hour before every other soldier was expected to report at their respective positions. Washington's aides were supposed to lead by example.

"Good morning, Colonel Hamilton." Burr said pleasantly. His busted lip had scabbed over.

"Good morning, Colonel Burr." Alexander returned his attention to the financial plan.

"I hear that Colonel Laurens left for South Carolina this morning. I trust that you sent him off properly?" Burr inquired with a false air of politeness.

"As it happens, I was working at the time of Colonel Laurens' departure." Alexander replied, still working on the financial plan. "If we all slept until six in the morning, I fear no task would be accomplished by day's end."

Burr grinned. It was not the friendly sort of grin shared among friends. It was wolflike.

"Colonel Laurens informed me of your unusual hours." He said. "He told me that it was perfectly acceptable to report at six in the morning without fear of reprimand."

Alexander clenched his jaw, but kept his eyes trained on the parchment. He did not wish for Burr to see how much it bothered him to hear John's words coming from Burr's mouth. He did not wish for Burr to know that Alexander was devoured by a jealous rage whenever Burr exposed a statement that John had told Burr, but not him. He did not understand the nature of John and Burr's friendship, nor did he wish to.

"Perhaps that was so for Colonel Laurens." Alexander ground out. "But perhaps you should strive to achieve higher than a fourteen hour day."

"Why should I aim higher than Colonel Laurens did?" Burr wondered. "He received a command, after all. And you, for all your industriousness, did not."

Alexander slammed down his quill.

"Would you care for the wound on your lip to be reopened?" He demanded.

"Tsk, tsk. You will have to learn to govern that temper of yours, Hamilton, if you are ever to succeed." Burr reminded him gleefully. "Fistfights may have served you well in the schoolyard, but it is not proper conduct for a gentleman. I understand that you are somewhat at a disadvantage, as you have not been raised to be a gentleman, but I did think that was a fairly obvious rule."

Alexander could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

Burr let out a small chuckle and shook his head.

"Come, Hamilton. Let us not fight. I believe we could be of use to one another." He said.

"Is that so?" Alexander asked dubiously.

"Certainly. I could assist you in acquiring the skills which any gentleman should have. I could also further your interests among the society men whom I correspond with." Burr suggested.

"What would you get out of the transaction?" Alexander demanded, finally looking up from the parchment. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

Burr shrugged, his face suggesting that he would only request something mild; something which would be easy for Alexander to provide.

"General Washington's ear." He said.

Alexander snorted in disbelief.

"How am I to provide you with General Washington's ear?" He wondered.

Burr shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Everyone in camp is aware of your influence over General Washington. If you could use such influence in my favor, I would be most appreciative."

"If I had influence over General Washington - which I do not - how would I exert it in your favor? I cannot even acquire a command for myself." Alexander reminded Burr irritably.

"It appears that General Washington is more willing to spare men close to you than you, yourself. Just look to Colonel Laurens, now commanding a troop." Burr replied. He leaned a bit closer, closing the gap between himself and Alexander. Alexander tried not to shudder at the untoward familiarity. "Let us act as though we are friends - just as you and Colonel Laurens were friends. Certainly, then, I will achieve a command just as Colonel Laurens did."

"You wish for me to act as a friend to you in exchange for connections into New York society?" Alexander quirked an eyebrow.

"I believe you are oversimplifying my request, but...yes, essentially." Burr replied, tipping his head to the side slightly.

"I see." Alexander returned his attention to the parchment so that he would not have to see the look on Burr's face when he said, "I believe we have reached an understanding."

* * *

Alexander worked until Washington materialized in front of his desk. Without John, Alexander realized that he no longer had a routine. John no longer told him when they were to retire for supper. John would no longer watch him from the other side of the fire during supper, serving as a pleasant view while Alexander suffered Washington's discussions on horticulture or the strategies of warfare. John would no longer retire with him at the end of supper. Alexander would now sleep alone, indefinitely.

Now, Alexander walked with Washington to supper. He received his share of the disreputable stew and took his place between Washington and Lafayette. The men discussed French diplomacy. They both corresponded with Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin. Alexander had heard of both. Neither Washington nor Lafayette offered letters of introduction on Alexander's behalf. Alexander was accustomed to being slighted in this way.

Lafayette spoke of a letter he had received from a duke or a duchess who was a courtier in Louis XVI's court. According to this letter, Benjamin Franklin had bedded nearly every nobleman's wife during his tenure at court and now looked to young Marie Antoinette as his next pursuit. This gossip made Washington chuckle. Alexander laughed at the particular details of Lafayette's relegation of the French court scandals, but did not feel any pleasure. He wished that he could instead listen to John speak of his life back in South Carolina.

As supper came to a close, Washington created a flimsy excuse to invite Alexander back to his quarters. Lafayette knew well enough to make himself scarce upon hearing this request.

Alexander returned to Washington's quarters with Washington. There, he faked love as well as he knew how. He had learned to master it over the years. It did help that Washington seemed to want to believe Alexander. The man seemed to desire Alexander's love more than he desired to win the war.

Alexander would ask for a command on the next night. Perhaps there would be another opening near South Carolina.

At the end of the evening, once Washington had been sufficiently placated, Alexander returned to his own quarters. There, he found a letter waiting for him. It had been slipped under his door while he was out. The curvy handwriting spelling out his name suggested that the letter was from Eliza.

He used the knife attached to his uniform to tear open the envelope.

_My dearest Hamilton,_

_I cannot stop thinking about you and our happy engagement. I wish that you could come home to me. I miss you terribly. Won't you write me one of your pretty poems? I showed your last one to Angelica. I hope you won't be angry with me. She thought it better than the poetry in books. Angelica is much smarter than I am, so I am disposed to agree with her._

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard that illness is all over General Washington's camp lately. I have included a recipe from our physician for a poultice which might keep you safe while others around you are ill. If you find it agreeable, you may share it with General Washington and your friends._

_On the note of your friends - I have begun to draw up invitations to our wedding. I would like it if you could find time to write me the names and addresses of those who you would like to attend. I know you're very busy, but do not want you to feel slighted on our special day._

_I love you. I can't wait to marry you._

_Love,_

_Eliza Schuyler (almost Hamilton!)_

Alexander could not help but smile at the borderline childlike way that Eliza wrote. He smiled at her undisguised enthusiasm for the wedding, too. He never could have imagined that a Schuyler sister would be enthusiastic at the prospect of marrying him.

Though he was exhausted, he picked up his own quill. It would not do to insult Eliza with a delay in his own correspondence. He could not do anything to cause her insult until their vows had been exchanged.

_My dearest,_

_It comes as a great pleasure at the end of each day to read your pretty little letters. I fear I find myself in a condition incompatible with writing poetry, but trust that I will be filled with poetry the moment I am able to look upon your face once more._

_I appreciate the inclusion the poultice recipe and I trust that your physician is keeping you safe in my absence. You must tell him that he is guarding the most valuable jewel in all of the world._

_As you have requested, I have included a list of people who ought to be invited to our wedding on my own behalf. I apologize for the shortness of the list - many of my friends are difficult to find in the midst of a war._

_Adieu, my love._

_Yours always,_

_A. Hamilton_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

**John Laurens**

_Colonel John Laurens -_

_On behalf of Colonel Alexander Hamilton, you are hereby invited to the wedding of Colonel Alexander Hamilton to Miss Eliza Schuyler. The wedding will take place at the Schuyler Estate at 12:30 in the afternoon._

_Courtesy of,_

_The Schuyler family_

John stared down at the letter in disbelief. He had given up on all hopes of reconciling with Hamilton after going two weeks in South Carolina without receiving any letters from Hamilton. Even the letters which he had received from Washington were written in Burr's hand. John would have recognized Hamilton's handwriting immediately.

"We must go." Marty had read the invitation over John's shoulders. "Everyone is already talking about the wedding. Eliza is the last of the Schuylers to get married, and Hamilton is apparently the picture of the perfect officer. There will be many important people in attendance. We must be among them."

John furrowed his brows.

He had not thought of the remainder of the guest list, or the importance of making connections at the wedding. He had thought only of Hamilton marrying. He had thought about Hamilton's decision to invite him.

"Yes," He said, slowly. "Yes, I suppose that would be the appropriate thing to do."

"Will General Washington grant you leave for the wedding?" Marty wondered.

"I will write to him." John said, still struggling with his thoughts of Hamilton. He vowed to write a letter to Hamilton in addition to the one that he would write Washington. "I suppose I will have to consider which man might properly govern over my men in my absence."

"Colonel Gregory has proven himself to be a loyal man." Marty suggested.

Since their arrival in South Carolina, Marty had become John's closest - and, indeed, _only_ \- confidant. Though John liked sharing his bed with her no better than he originally had, he did enjoy her company a sight more. She was a good friend, though he could not profess her to be a great love.

"I suppose so, but has he the intelligence to act in my stead?" John inquired.

"No one is as intelligent as you, husband." Marty reminded him. "You must forgive others for falling short in comparison to yourself."

John forced a small smile.

He bit his tongue, resisting the urge to inform Marty that there were, in fact, men who were his betters. Hamilton was far more intelligent than he. Hamilton would have been a much braver leader. Hamilton would have thrived, had he been given the command that had been given to John.

"I shall write a letter to General Washington tonight." He assured her.

"Very good." Marty said with a bright smile. "I will write to the tailor and order us new clothes to wear to the wedding."

John nodded slightly.

He had assumed that he would wear his uniform to the wedding. Hamilton had always liked the way that he looked in a uniform.

Marty hurried off to write her letters. John scrouged for parchment in his office, hoping to avoid returning to his sleeping quarters with Marty. The woman had an unfortunate habit of turning a perfectly harmless task into a romantic opportunity. John realized that he had hoped for too much in believing that a woman in Marty's condition would no longer be interested in amorous conduct.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found two pieces of parchment and corresponding envelopes. He would not have to return to his quarters to write the necessary letters to Washington and Hamilton. He wrote the letter to Washington first. It would be the easier letter.

_Most respected Sir,_

_I, your most loyal and obedient servant, humbly request leave for myself and my wife on the occasion of Colonel Alexander Hamilton's wedding. It is my suggestion that Colonel Gregory lead the troops you have generously put under my command in my stead. I believe wholeheartedly that he is a suitable man for the task._

_Both my wife and I join in wishing you success in future endeavors on behalf of your most grateful country._

_Respectfully,_

_John Laurens_

The letter had been supremely embarrassing to write. Writing Washington was always embarrassing. John felt compelled to stroke Washington's oversized ego just as overzealously as the rest of the men whom he corresponded with. He could not afford to offend Washington when he relied on him for supplies and rations. Washington could starve him out if John did not grovel enough for his liking.

John folded the letter, stuffed it into an envelope, and sealed the envelope with wax before Marty had the opportunity to read its contents. Marty often read his correspondence whenever she had the opportunity. She often told John that he did not grovel enough when corresponding with Washington. She wished for John to be promoted to a general's position before the war had ended.

John then placed the parchment intended for Hamilton in front of him. He lifted his quill, dipped it in ink, then hesitated. He could not think of the appropriate way to begin the letter. He could not even think of the appropriate way to address Hamilton.

He did not know if Hamilton considered John a friend any longer. He was sure that Hamilton did not consider John to be a lover any longer, though he did not wish to confirm it in writing. If he wrote a loving letter, there was an opportunity for Hamilton's forgiveness, or Hamilton's rejection. If he wrote a friendly letter, there was an opportunity for amity from Hamilton, or disappointment from a still-affectionate Hamilton. If he wrote a stiff and formal letter, there was an opportunity for further correspondence with an impressed Hamilton, or a silence from an offended Hamilton.

It seemed perilous, this letter. John stood to gain very much, or otherwise lose very much.

_Colonel Hamilton,_

He started out very plainly.

_I have, on this day, received a most welcome invitation to the wedding of you and your lovely Ms. Schuyler._

John was not unaware that Hamilton would immediately recognize his lie. He hoped that Hamilton would appreciate the lie. It was John's own special means of paying penance. He was recognizing that Eliza was destined to occupy a greater role in Hamilton's life than he.

_Though my attendance largely relies upon General Washington's approval of my request for leave, I promise to make every possible effort to be present on such a happy occasion. Mrs. Laurens shares my enthusiasm._

This was John's means of warning Hamilton that Marty would be attending the wedding with him. She had only grown more possessive of him since their arrival in South Carolina. She would not relinquish John to Hamilton willingly.

_I find that, while I am in every way honored by the command given to me by the most gracious General Washington, I often find myself missing the familiar comforts of General Washington's camp._

John had laid it out for Hamilton in a way that he knew Hamilton would not mistake: _I miss you_. It was an unnecessary inclusion to the letter, but John could not resist doing so. He felt compelled to let Hamilton know that, despite Hamilton's careless attitude and John's indiscretion with the lashings, he missed the nights they would spend together in John's cramped quarters.

_I hope to find your wedding a happy reunion of those whose company I enjoyed most during our mutual time at General Washington's camp. Similarly, I hope that you are honored by the considerable esteem of your guests._

John did not care if Lafayette attended the wedding - though he had exchanged letters with Lafayette and did, in fact, miss the man - nor did he care if any of the other officers he'd gotten to know attended. The only reunion he cared about was his and Hamilton's.

_I pray this letter finds you well - both warm and well-fed._

John had heard stories about men dying of starvation, exposure to the cold, and similarly-related causes. He did not wish to hear such stories about Hamilton. He trusted Washington to keep Hamilton safe in his absence.

_Your obedient servant,_

_John Laurens_

John could not write "love," as he wished to, but he could not bring himself to sign off with the coldly formal "respectfully," that he had given Washington. He would not write a desperate letter of love - he had far too much dignity for that - but he would write a letter that alluded to his feelings. He would allow Hamilton to hope, so there might be a conversation at the wedding.

He folded the letter up and quickly placed it in an envelope. He dripped some wax onto the fold of the envelope and stamped his seal into it. He stared down at it for a moment, then flipped the envelope over and addressed it to Hamilton. He hoped that Hamilton would not throw it into the fire the moment he received it.

**Alexander Hamilton**

"_Monsier_ 'amilton, a letter for you." Lafayette breezed into quarters with two envelopes in his hand. He tossed one envelope onto Alexander's desk, then proceeded in the direction of Washington's office.

Alexander looked down at the envelope he had received. His name was scrawled across the envelope, but it was not written in Eliza's handwriting. Instead, it appeared to be the handwriting of John Laurens.

"I was under the impression that you did not receive letters from Ms. Schuyler until the evening." Burr raised an eyebrow in the direction of the letter.

"It is not from Ms. Schuyler." Alexander replied curtly.

He and Burr had reached an understanding in the past few weeks, but Alexander could not profess feelings of close friendship to the man. They were friendly, but not yet friends. Alexander thus did not feel inclined to tell Burr about the nature of the letter.

"I see." Burr smiled, shifting in his seat. "I don't suppose you're corresponding with other young ladies - I daresay you would not risk your imminent marriage for such a trifle - so perhaps you have received a letter from a colleague?"

Alexander's lips stiffened into a pout.

"Perhaps." He allowed.

Burr tilted his chin upwards, just enough for him to sneak a glimpse of the envelope. Alexander resisted the urge to protect the address with his hand. To hide the handwriting would have been to admit that there was something worthy of hiding.

"If you'll forgive me for saying so, that appears to be John Laurens' handwriting." Burr remarked.

Alexander clenched his jaw. He disliked that Burr had recognized John's handwriting as easily as he had. He did not know what type of relationship existed between John and Burr. He did not know whether the two men corresponded. He had not heard from John since he had departed for South Carolina.

"It appears so, yes." He allowed tightly.

"I was unaware that you continued to correspond with Colonel Laurens." Burr said.

"I do not." Alexander replied, looking down at the envelope. "Perhaps he is accepting Ms. Schuyler's invitation to our wedding. She must not have given him the appropriate address to mail such an acceptance."

"You invited Colonel Laurens to your wedding?" Burr's smile did not disappear. "You neglected to invite me."

"Colonel Burr, you must give me the credit that I deserve." Alexander protested. "I neglected nothing. I did not invite you to the wedding on purpose."

"You are so very amusing." Burr rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his work at long last. "I do not know why you do not simply forgo your duty to the militia and become a playwright."

Alexander smirked back at Burr before cutting the letter open with his letter opener. He unfurled the parchment with a steadying breath. It felt like years had passed since he had last spoken to John. He was uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to speak to John. Part of him ached for John; missed him to a troublesome degree. Part of him loathed John and wished never to see him again.

_Colonel Hamilton,_

John's letter began simply. There were no terms of endearment or affection. Alexander stared at the formal address, his brows furrowing. He forced himself to move on past those two words, for he surely could not glean John's meaning from them.

_I have, on this day, received a most welcome invitation to the wedding of you and your lovely Ms. Schuyler._

Alexander felt an odd lurching sensation in his stomach. He had known when he had requested Eliza send the invitation that John would receive it. Having confirmation of the receipt, however, filled Alexander with unease.

John had written that the invitation was "most welcome." Alexander knew that this was a lie. Nothing about Eliza Schuyler had ever been welcomed by John. The man had made little secret of his jealousy throughout Alexander's courtship. A small smile crossed Alexander's face as he recalled the countless nights in which John would pout and refuse to look at Alexander until he had been sufficiently placated. Though Alexander would often remind John of his promise not to behave in such a manner, he could not deny that it had been an endearing performance each time.

He had further written that Eliza was his, and that she was lovely. Both were true, Alexander supposed, but he could not have foreseen John recognizing either. John had always acted as though he and Alexander belonged to each other, and everyone else was extraneous. Alexander had liked it that way. There had been a certain exhilaration in owing a greater loyalty to one person than anyone else.

_Though my attendance largely relies upon General Washington's approval of my request for leave, I promise to make every possible effort to be present on such a happy occasion. Mrs. Laurens shares my enthusiasm._

Alexander's smile evaporated. John would be bringing his wife to the wedding. Though it was a perfectly appropriate course of action, bringing one's wife to a wedding, it served as a reminder that John and Alexander could no longer belong to each other the way they once had. It would no longer be Alexander and John. It would be Alexander and Eliza, joined by John and Martha.

Alexander wondered if John had intended cruelty when he had written such a line. He wondered if this was John's final assault, forcing Alexander to confront the present's difference to its charming counterpart, the past. It was unlike John to be cruel.

_I find that, while I am in every way honored by the command given to me by the most gracious General Washington, I often find myself missing the familiar comforts of General Washington's camp._

Alexander's heart shuddered involuntarily in his chest. Though John had mentioned both Eliza and his own wife and had made clear that they could not return to the time when they were Alexander and John, his letter suggested that he missed Alexander. Alexander's eyes roved over the sentence three or four times, allowing himself to hope for the hidden meaning.

The familiar comforts of General Washington's camp. Yes, Alexander knew them well.

The walk from dinner to John's quarters. Alexander remembered the way his entire body would buzz with anticipation. A jolt of electricity would pass through him with every glance he and John afforded one another.

The long days working in the office. During these days, Alexander and John developed their own language. Alexander had learned what each expression on John's face meant, without John having to say a word. They could have an entire conversation with only their eyes. Alexander had never had such a connection with another person before.

_I hope to find your wedding a happy reunion of those whose company I enjoyed most during our mutual time at General Washington's camp. Similarly, I hope that you are honored by the considerable esteem of your guests._

Alexander dared to hope that the 'happy reunion' that John spoke of was his own with Alexander. After all, John had proclaimed that he had missed Alexander.

The part of Alexander that had loathed John and wished never to speak with him again seemed to have vanished. Only the part which desperately missed John remained. His loneliness for John grew heavier with each written word. It was now threatening to crush him.

_I pray this letter finds you well - both warm and well-fed._

The letter was wrapping up. Alexander was not ready for the letter to end just yet. He wished that it would go on endlessly. If the letter were to go on endlessly, Alexander could pretend that he and John were conversing once again. He could pretend that John had not left for South Carolina, perhaps forever.

_Your obedient servant,_

_John Laurens_

Alexander wished that John had written "love." For all of the letters which Alexander had received claiming "love" after two meetings, it seemed absurd for it to be absent in the one letter where Alexander was certain that love existed. Doubt began to erode at Alexander's hopes.

He set down the letter, willing himself not to read it over and over again to discern John's meanings. John had never been cryptic. His words held their meanings openly. Alexander knew to take comfort in the ones which were pleasing, and to ignore the ones which were not.

"Was it a pleasant letter?" Burr asked as Alexander returned to his work.

Alexander realized that he had quite forgotten that Burr existed. In fact, he had forgotten that he was surrounded by people entirely. He had, if for only a moment, escaped into a reality in which only he and John seemed to exist.

"Oh, yes." He answered distractedly. "It was a fine letter."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

**John Laurens**

"Do you, Alexander Hamilton, take Elizabeth Schuyler to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in heath, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

John did not look away as Hamilton promised his life to a beaming Eliza. He could feel Marty's eyes on him, waiting for confirmation of all of her suspicions. John would not grant her the liberty of such a confirmation. He would not allow anyone to know that seeing Hamilton standing there in his finest uniform, pledging his undying love to her, broke his heart.

There were not many people attending the wedding who would have noticed John's heartbreak, anyway. At least, not on Hamilton's side. Eliza's side of the ceremony was packed with some of the most influential families in the North. Hamilton's side of the ceremony consisted of John, Marty, and Eliza's sisters. They had opted to sit on Hamilton's side once it became clear that Eliza did not need their presence so much as Hamilton did.

"It then gives me great pleasure to announce you man and wife." The officiant looked from Eliza to Hamilton solemnly. "You may now kiss the bride."

Eliza blushed a pretty shade of pink as Hamilton leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. John clenched his fist. His fingernails cut into his palms.

Hamilton led Eliza back down the aisle. They were both smiling, pretty as a painting. Everyone was clapping politely. John felt Marty nudge his ribs, reminding him that he ought to be clapping, too. John looked away from Hamilton and Eliza as soon as Marty's eyes left him. He could not tolerate watching Eliza's delicate hand perched upon Hamilton's arm for another second. Instead, he looked to Eliza's sister, Angelica. She was staring straight ahead, her complexion paler than it was the last time John had seen her.

"Esteemed guests," One of General Schuyler's slaves addressed the crowd with no small amount of deference. John wondered what Hamilton thought about the slaves employed at his wedding. "General Schuyler and his family now invite you to join them, along with the married couple, in the ballroom, where there will be food and music."

"Ah, how wonderful!" Marty remarked as they rose to their feet. "I feel as though I haven't heard good music in ages."

"Mm." John hummed noncommittally.

"You will dance with me, John?" Marty inquired, her sharp eyes focusing on John.

"Yes, of course." John agreed.

He would have much preferred to avoid dancing with Marty, if it were possible. He would have preferred to attend the wedding without her, in the first place. He would have preferred Hamilton leave Eliza at the alter, opting instead to run off with John. If that were not possible, he would have preferred to sulk in a corner for the remainder of the evening, miserable at the prospect of losing Hamilton.

In the ballroom, there was a beautiful chandelier, bottomless glasses of wine, and wonderful music. Marty took it all in with wide eyes. John could not tear his eyes away from Hamilton and Eliza. Hamilton was feeding Eliza a finger sandwich, a handsome grin on his face. He looked so in love.

"Would you like to eat? Perhaps some wine? Or would you like to dance?" Marty asked, apparently delighted by the prospect of all three choices.

"Whichever you would prefer, dear." John replied without enthusiasm.

"Let us dance." Marty decided, taking John's hand in hers. "We so rarely have the opportunity to dance together!"

John bit his tongue. He wanted to tell Marty that they rarely danced because the country was tearing itself apart with the war. He wanted to tell her that she was ridiculous for thinking of dancing while the war was still raging on.

Instead, he led Marty to the floor and walked through the familiar steps of a dance he'd learned as a boy.

* * *

"I presume that you are Colonel Laurens." Angelica Schuyler approached John while Marty was speaking with some ladies with whom she had corresponded, but never met.

John looked at Angelica, wondering how it was that she knew his name. She handed him an intricately designed wine glass. John accepted it with a curt nod.

"And you are Ms. Angelica Schuyler." He said.

Angelica's mouth curved into a sly smile.

"Dare I ask how I have managed the good fortune of your notice, Colonel Laurens?" She asked.

John blinked. He allowed himself, only momentarily, to wonder if Angelica was flirting with him. It seemed impossible, a woman known for her beauty, wit, and charm to be interested in him. John was nobody. A _married_ nobody, at that. He satisfied himself with the conclusion that she could not be flirting with him. It was far more likely that she was utilizing him as a means of being introduced to a more suitable gentleman with whom John was acquainted.

"I believe I could assign you the same question, Miss Schuyler." He said, hoping that he sounded at least an ounce as witty as Angelica did.

John had never been accused of wittiness.

Angelica's smile broadened slightly. John had said the correct thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Marty was now looking. She was regarding John and Angelica with dissatisfied incredulity. John knew that he only had another moment or two before Marty would arrive to forcefully introduce herself as his wife.

"I recognized you from the ball in which Colonel Hamilton and I were introduced...where Colonel Hamilton and my dear sister were introduced, also. You and I are kindred spirits." She explained.

"Kindred spirits?" John frowned as he echoed the word. "I cannot imagine what you mean."

Angelica laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I have seen the way that you look at Colonel Hamilton." She lowered her voice slightly. "I have also seen your wife pout whenever you look at Colonel Hamilton. I have seen that face before. I have seen it on my sister every time she even imagines Colonel Hamilton, and I have seen it on myself when I look in the mirror."

"You…?" John felt his mouth dry at the accusation.

Angelica rolled her eyes and waved off John's concern.

"I will not betray your secret anymore than your face has, Colonel Laurens." Angelica assured him. "I only ask you the simple favor of your company. I feel as though, if we are together, perhaps we might be isolated from the misery which this happy occasion might cause."

"While I am flattered by your offer, I fear that my wife will not understand the solidarity which you suggest." John glanced in Marty's direction. She was edging towards them, trying desperately to disguise the jealousy that John could recognize from a mile away.

"Your wife will forgive you, I think." Angelica remarked. "I believe she has forgiven you for far worse."

John let out a sigh.

"What would you have me do, Ms. Schuyler?" He asked.

"Would you announce my speech?" She requested. She reached out a hand and placed it on John's arm. John looked down at it in surprise. He was certain that this breached propriety. If Angelica did not remove her hand and show some sign of friendship to Marty, people might talk.

"_Your_ speech?" John repeated distractedly.

"I know it is rather unconventional." Angelica allowed, tilting her head a bit. "Typically, my father or my mother would make the speech. If they were unable, perhaps one of my father's friends, but...well, my father dislikes public speaking, and my mother is not very good at it. I have never had any trouble speaking to anyone, really, and I am Eliza's maid of honor, so here I am - making the wedding speech."

"Congratulations." John said. He did not know what else he could say.

"Thank you." Angelica's eyes sparkled like she was laughing at him. "However, I am sure that you can understand why it is that I am not looking forward to such a task. It was bad enough standing by my sister's side as she was courted and married to Hamilton. Now, to have to speak in front of all of these people and act as though…"

Her voice wobbled a bit. John's brows furrowed uncertainly. Though Angelica Schuyler was known for her self-assuredness and borderline intimidating confidence, it seemed as though she was on the cusp of crying. This woman of myth and legend was reduced to tears by Hamilton. John could not help but marvel at the power of the man who had once been his own.

"I will introduce you, if you believe that it will aid you in your endeavor." John agreed, mostly to prevent any tears from coming into being at the party. It would be noticed.

"Thank you." Angelica gave John's arm a gentle squeeze before finally, _finally_ removing her hand.

"Husband." Marty materialized before Angelica's hand had even hit her side. She looked between John and Angelica with a fake smile that was meant to dispel any rumors. "Ms. Schuyler. I did not know that you were acquainted."

"Only just." Angelica recovered from the emotions that had wracked her moments ago with astonishing grace. "My sisters and I were introduced to both Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Laurens at a ball a few weeks prior. Colonel Laurens could talk of nothing but his eagerness to be reunited with his wife. I now see why - you are expecting a child."

"Yes." Marty placed a protective hand on her swollen stomach and cast John a warning look. She then turned to look at Angelica evenly. "Many believe that it will be a boy."

"Congratulations." Angelica smiled politely. "I am sure it is a great pleasure for you to be so suitably matched with a son on the way."

"Hm." Marty's smile was sickly sweet.

"As you are so comfortably situated, I hope that you will not mind the favor I have asked of your husband. I have been given the privilege of addressing my father's guests on his behalf tonight, but I fear that an introduction made by a slave would be rather crass under the circumstances. You know that Colonel Hamilton does not approve of slavery. He has denied the slaves whom my father was to gift to him as part of Eliza's dowry." Angelica explained.

"You wish for my husband to introduce you?" Marty asked dubiously. John wondered if he should be offended. "Is there not a more suitable gentleman to make such an introduction? One whom you have spoken with more than twice?"

Angelica's smile grew somewhat condescending.

"No," She said, looking to John. "It seems perfect sense to me. I am Eliza's maid of honor, and Colonel Laurens was Colonel Hamilton's only guest. I am certain that Colonel Hamilton would be delighted to see Colonel Laurens address the guests as well as I."

"I am sure that he would." Marty turned her sickly sweet smile on John.

John ignored her. She would not make a scene in front of so many influential people.

"I would be delighted to assist you, Ms. Schuyler." He said. "You only need to let me know when I should take my place at the front of the room."

"Now would be wonderful." Angelica grabbed hold of John's arm once again. She threw a carefree smile in Marty's direction. "Thank you, Mrs. Laurens."

Angelica burst into laughter as she and John darted through the crowds towards the front of the ballroom.

"That wife of yours!" Angelica laughed. "She looked as though she had sucked down three lemons before speaking with us! Is she your precious love, or your jailkeeper?"

"Like the rest of us, she is prone to jealousy." John allowed, a small smile on his face.

He liked Angelica, in spite of himself. He did not like her in the same lustful way that every other man seemed to, but he liked her honesty and the ease with which she laughed. He wished that he could be more like her.

"I suppose I can hardly fault her for that." Angelica remarked gaily. "As you and I are both suffering from terrible jealousies of our own."

John could not help but venture a look in Hamilton's direction at Angelica's words. Hamilton was watching them, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted. Beside him, Eliza was laughing with her other sister, Peggy. She did not appear to notice Hamilton's displaced attention.

John smiled faintly at Hamilton. Hamilton smiled faintly back.

Angelica pinched John's arm. He looked to her in surprise. He had believed that he had left all dangers of assault in South Carolina, with his soldiers.

"If you would please announce me." She reminded him in her prettiest tone.

John nodded, looking around at the table of guests. It was a large group of people. He had rarely spoken in front of so many people before. He spoke to his soldiers, naturally, but those talks were a different sort of exercise. Now, he had to speak with grace and poise. If he faltered or fumbled, his father would hear that John had made a fool of himself. Hamilton would watch as he made a fool of himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He began, willing his voice to increase in volume and carry throughout the hall. Dozens of heads swiveled to look at him, taking in the sight of John and Angelica with great interest. "I would appreciate your assistance in welcoming the maid of honor to congratulate her sister - Miss Angelica Schuyler."

Angelica stepped in front of John as the guests clapped enthusiastically.

"A toast to the groom!" She exclaimed, holding up a glass of wine. It was tilted in the direction of Hamilton and Eliza.

The guests, John included, raised their glasses exactly the way Angelica had. It gave John an excuse to look at Hamilton. His face was ruddy with excitement. He was smiling in that raffish, charming smile that made it impossible not to love him. Oh, John loved him.

"To the groom!" They echoed.

John did not join the other guests in congratulating Hamilton. He could not bring himself to speak. His throat was clogged. He wished that it was clogged out of happiness for Hamilton. It was not. John was well-aware that his throat was clogged out of the sheer magnitude of his love for Hamilton.

"To the bride!" Angelica called out, beaming at Eliza.

"To the bride!" The guest echoed again.

"To the bride." John murmured as the cheers died down.

Angelica's smile was so affectionate that even John began to believe that she was genuinely happy for her sister.

Eliza turned to smile at Hamilton. Hamilton was still watching Angelica, listening to her speech and grinning.

"To your union," Angelica persisted.

"To your union!" The guests echoed.

"To the revolution." General Schuyler added, raising his own glass with a grin. He was joined in this separate dedication by a few of his fellow officers. John echoed this sentiment. He could not risk General Schuyler relaying to General Washington that John was lacking in patriotism.

"And the hope that you provide." Angelica continued. Her smile was fading somewhat. Her eyes were fixed on Hamilton, but appeared to be distant. She was thinking about something other than her words. "May you always be satisfied."

Angelica's tone did not prompt guests to echo her words, as her former wishes had. She was silent for a few seconds. The guests looked to one another uneasily. John turned to look at Angelica, too. She was still watching Hamilton with that vacant stare, her lips pressed together tightly.

A few more seconds passed by. John looked to Angelica. It did not appear that she intended to say anything else in the next few seconds. The murmuring among the guests was growing louder. John moved closer to Angelica and touched the crook of her elbow, meaning only to remind her of reality.

Angelica looked to John, confused. John nodded in the direction of the guests. Angelica followed his nod. She blinked at the sight of dozens of people staring at her expectantly. She quickly employed the same charming smile that she had worn when she had started her speech.

"To my darling sister!" She proclaimed in the same cheerful tone, eliciting echoes from the guests once more. "And to my new brother. I hope you find true happiness in one another."

The guests applauded as Angelica removed herself from the center of the room. John followed her, searching the crowd for Marty. As they moved through the crowds, Eliza appeared. She pulled Angelica into a tight hug.

"That was wonderful! Thank you." She said, her light voice muffled by Angelica's shoulder.

"Thank you for announcing my new sister." Hamilton approached John while Eliza and Angelica interacted. He smiled bashfully. He then stuck a hand out towards John. John realized that Hamilton wanted to shake his hand. It seemed a comically formal gesture, given all that had transpired between the two men in the past.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Colonel Hamilton." John forced himself to say. His polite tone sounded forced to his own ears.

"Thank you." Hamilton's smile faltered a bit. "May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Eliza Hamilton?"

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Laurens." Eliza distangled herself from Angelica in order to curtsy before John.

It was a beautiful curtsy, John begrudgingly observed. Everything that Eliza Schuyler - now Eliza Hamilton - did seemed to be full of grace and social tact. She was a perfect match for Hamilton. She would help him dazzle all that needed dazzling in order for Hamilton to climb to the top of the social ladder.

"The pleasure is all mine." John responded, his voice tight.

He looked over his shoulder for Marty. This was the appropriate time to introduce Marty to Hamilton and Eliza, now that they were a married couple. It appeared, however, that Marty was engaged in a conversation with General Schuyler and his wife. Such a connection would only be an asset to John. Besides that, John did not particularly want Marty present while he spoke with Hamilton and his new wife.

"Colonel Laurens, would you mind if I spoke with you for a moment?" Hamilton asked, forcing John to return his attention to the couple. Hamilton glanced at Eliza after asking John this question. "Would you mind if I parted with you momentarily, my dear?"

"Not at all." Eliza's face flushed with pleasure at Hamilton's affectionate pet name.

Hamilton smiled, then bowed to kiss her hand. John looked away.

"Colonel Laurens?" Hamilton inquired, now looking at John inquisitively.

"Yes, of course." John agreed hastiy. He nodded towards Angelica and Eliza before following Hamilton. They exited the ballroom and walked through the grand Schuyler mansion.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Alexander led John out into the garden. The smell of chrysanthemums filled the air.

"I am happy to see you again, John." Alexander said as they walked along the path of the garden.

He did not wish to overstate his joy. He did not tell John the way that his heart had felt when he first saw John before the ceremony. He did not tell John all of the ways that he had missed him while he remained at Washington's camp. He did not tell John that he had read his letter, accepting Alexander's invitation to his wedding, until the paper fell apart in his hands.

"I am happy to see you, too." John agreed.

His voice was just as guarded as Alexander's. Alexander wondered what unspoken messages lurked beneath John's words.

Alexander wanted John to broach the subject of reconciliation first. He wanted John to apologize, so that Alexander could forgive him and all could be well again. He wanted John to apologize so that they could exchange letters of love, as they had done, and eagerly plan their future once the war was over. John would move north with his family. Alexander would purchase an estate beside his. They would both find work under the new government. They would ride to work together. They would attend all of the same dinner parties. They would spend most of their time together; most of their lives together. They would laugh about the time when they had once fought.

"I suspected that you would decline my invitation." Alexander remarked, hoping that the mention of the invitation would prompt John's apology.

John nodded, his eyes flicking down to look at the ground. He was considering Alexander's words.

"I wanted to see you." He said after a few seconds. "I thought that we ought to...to see each other and perhaps talk. The state in which we left our friendship was...it left much to be desired."

Alexander nodded. "I agree."

He waited for John to apologize.

John let out a sigh. "I wish that I had handled myself better in the events which led us here. I...I treated you appallingly. I should not have allowed General Washington to bully me into punishing you for expressing your anger over a matter which you had - and _have_ \- every right to."

Alexander smiled.

"There is no need to apologize." He said graciously. "Let us put such unpleasantries behind us."

John smiled back at him gratefully.

John had the most remarkable smile. It was innocent, even after twenty-two years of life. Alexander wondered at John's ability to remain as innocent as he did. Alexander rather suspected that he had never been permitted to be innocent in his own lifetime.

"I still…" John started, his smile fading somewhat. For all of his education, he had never been particularly good at finding the right words when speaking. "That is, I never stopped...I am not hoping that anything could come of such a profession, but…"

Alexander's smile grew wider. He hoped that John was struggling to tell him that he still retained romantic feelings towards Alexander. Alexander had dared hope that, like him, John still believed them to be in a relationship of sorts.

"Are you staying as a guest of the Schuylers this evening?" Alexander asked.

John's smile vanished altogether. He must have thought that Alexander was avoiding the sentiment he was hoping to express.

"Yes." He replied. "General Schuyler graciously offered my wife and I his hospitality until we are to return to South Carolina."

Alexander maintained his smile despite John's mention of his wife. He did not wish to appear jealous when they were on the verge of a reconciliation. He wanted John on any terms - wife, or no wife. Besides that, he had prided himself on his ability to swallow his jealousy much better than John. He did not wish to display the same jealous wrath that John had so often unleashed upon him. Though Alexander mostly found John's jealousy to be endearing, he was not certain that John would find Alexander's jealousy similarly endearing.

"Would you meet me in the kitchen tonight?" Alexander asked hopefully. "It's outside, just a short distance from the house."

It was customary for slaveholders to have kitchens which were separate from their houses. It kept the heat out of the house in the summer, and in the unfortunate event that the kitchen caught fire, the whole house would not be brought down in the blaze. Philip Schuyler was a pragmatic man who would avoid such risks if he could.

"Yes." John agreed straight away. "When shall I meet you?"

Alexander shifted his weight from one foot to another, looking around the garden for some sort of measure of time. He did not own a watch. Outside of Washington's camp, he did not know the time unless it was told to him.

"I could not say." He replied truthfully. "I do not know what time it is, now, nor will I know what time it is later without appearing exceedingly obvious. Of course, I must fulfill my...erm...marital obligations..."

Alexander did not miss the way that John's cheeks flushed at the mention of Alexander's obligations to Eliza. However, his mouth remained shut. He could hardly lecture Alexander on such duties, when his own wife's pregnancy made clear that John had fulfilled his own marital obligations.

"And you must tend to your wife." Alexander added before John could think to protest. "After we have seen to these tasks, I would like to meet. I am prepared to wait for you for hours, if I must. The kitchen will be still. General Schuyler permitted the kitchen workers to return to their quarters once the ceremony began. They awoke at two in the morning to ensure that the wedding feast was adequately prepared."

"Are you…" John looked around the garden before leaning closer to Alexander conspiratorially. "Are you going to permit your wife to own slaves? It would seem to me that General Schuyler would consider a person or two to be a natural gift for a daughter about to govern her own household. My father wished to convey an entire family to me following my wedding."

Alexander nodded slightly. "I thanked him for his offer, but refused."

John nodded, his mouth curved upwards only slightly. He was pleased with Alexander's answer.

"You should return to your wife." Alexander said, mostly for his own benefit. If John continued to stand before him, looking at him with that pleased little smile and those pretty amber eyes, Alexander could not be accountable for his actions. He did not trust himself not to lure John into Mrs. Schuyler's greenhouse for the remainder of the evening.

John nodded, his smile fading.

"You should, too." He replied in a failed but heroic attempt at humor.

"Ah, right." Alexander forced a smile.

They began to walk down the path towards the Schuyler mansion. From a distance, they could see couples departing from the mansion, ducking into the shelter of their carriages. The party was ending. John's wife would be missing him. Eliza would be looking for Alexander.

They reentered the mansion. John gravitated towards the ballroom, where his wife was likely conversing with a gaggle of ladies. Alexander moved towards the foyer, where Philip Schuyler and his wife would be bidding their guests goodnight. Eliza would likely be with them.

"There you are." Angelica Schuyler intercepted Alexander before he could reach the foyer. "I thought you had run off into the night."

"Your lack of confidence in me is astounding." Alexander feigned shock.

Angelica smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder. She had a wicked smile. Alexander liked that smile a great deal.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Hamilton. I have the greatest confidence in you." She protested, touching Alexander's arm in a playful gesture that he recognized all too well. "If you chose to make your guests feel your absence tonight, I am certain that you had a wonderful reason for doing so."

Angelica's words, though pleasant enough, were an accusation. She had noticed that Alexander had disappeared for a fair portion of the evening. Alexander felt compelled to justify himself, but could not do so without incriminating himself.

"How could my absence be felt when all of the guests were basking in the glow of your dear sister, my wife?" Alexander countered with a smile.

"You are always most charming when you are most guilty." Angelica accused, still smiling wryly.

"The only thing I am guilty of this evening is admiring my beautiful sister-in-law on my wedding night." Alexander said.

"Case in point." Angelica remarked triumphantly.

"Alexander!" Eliza stepped into the hallway and spotted Alexander speaking with Angelica. Both Alexander and Angelica turned to look at Eliza. Both of them smiled in her direction.

Angelica touched Alexander's arm again. This time, she squeezed it a bit.

"Will you meet me tonight?" She whispered. "I would talk to you about a rather delicate matter."

Alexander glanced at the approaching Eliza before looking down at Angelica. He frowned slightly. He knew what Angelica wanted to discuss. They had shared a singular but remarkable kiss two nights prior, when he had arrived at the mansion. After Eliza had gone to bed, Alexander and Angelica had passed the evening in the library. They spoke of economics, foreign policy, and mutual admiration for great men in the newly forged American society. Alexander had kissed her because he wanted - if only for a moment - to possess that magnificent brain of hers.

"I fear it will be quite impossible." He whispered back, maintaining his smile as Eliza neared. "For I intend to remain with my wife through the evening."

Angelica stepped in front of Alexander, monopolizing his attention. Alexander glanced over his shoulder to gauge Eliza's reaction. She was still smiling, but she paused to speak with one departing guest. She was giving Angelica the time that she clearly desired to speak with Alexander.

"Write to me, then." Angelica urged him. "My father is casting me off to England to marry John Church. You will write me letters. Good letters. Long letters."

"I will." Alexander promised.

His heart gave a strange twinge at the news that Angelica would be married to another man - an English man. He was certain that Angelica would be wasted on such a man. He wished that she could remain near him, available to lend her opinion or knowledge whenever he needed it. He realized that such a desire was too selfish to voice.

Angelica nodded to herself. She took a moment to look Alexander over. She then stepped away from him.

"Do not forget to write." She warned him.

"You have my most sincere promise." Alexander assured her.

She turned without another word. Angelica was confident that way. She did not dwell on the impossible. She passed Eliza as she walked away. She stopped to take Eliza's hand in hers.

"Congratulations, Eliza." Alexander heard her say.

"Thank you." Eliza beamed.

Her whole face was alight.

No, Alexander amended himself. Eliza herself was alight. She was a burst of light that had been sent to give hope to the poor wretches on earth by some unidentified but unmistakably mystical being.

"Here you are." Eliza said as she approached Alexander.

"Here I am." Alexander echoed.

He could not help but smile. It was impossible for him to look upon Eliza without smiling. She was such a happy and beautiful lady. He could not have imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would achieve a wife such as the one standing before him.

"My father has agreed to see off the rest of our guests." Eliza said. She flicked her eyes down demurely. She would not suggest what her sentence suggested. With Philip Schuyler sending off the guests, Alexander and Eliza were free to retire to their rooms for the evening.

Eliza reminded Alexander of John in this way. John had been so nervous when Alexander had first begun frequenting his quarters. He had blushed often and seemed to go to great lengths to remind Alexander of his inexperience. Alexander felt his smile soften.

"Let us retire, sweetheart." He suggested.

"As you wish, husband." Eliza replied agreeably, her eyes still averted.

Alexander took his hand in hers, then led her up the stairs towards their bedroom.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

**John Laurens**

"Where are you going?" Marty demanded as John shrugged on his jacket after an hour or two of relaxation. She looked up from the desk, where she was penning a letter to John's mother.

"I am going for a walk." John replied.

"Oh." Marty glanced out of the window of their room. "It _is_ a lovely night. I believe that I will join you."

"No." John protested quickly. "You should stay here. You have exerted yourself a great deal today, as it is. I would prefer that you relax and rebuild your strength. We will depart for South Carolina tomorrow afternoon."

"Nonsense." Marty's tone grew tight. "The fresh air would do me good."

"Open a window." John was losing time with Hamilton every moment that he remained in the room to argue with Marty. "You will receive the fresh air without the undue burden of exercise."

"Enough of this. I spent the _entire party_ alone this evening. Have you any idea how it felt to be abandoned at an event in which I had no connections? I had to introduce _myself_ to people of considerable esteem throughout the evening. People whom you ought to have been introducing me to. Where were you? Were you with _him_? Is that where you are going now?" Marty demanded.

John's brows furrowed.

"You promised me," He reminded her, unable to keep the angry edge out of his voice. "You promised me when we discussed marriage that I could live my own life as I saw fit; that you wanted a son and nothing more from me. I have fulfilled my obligations to you, wife. I expect you to make good on your promise to me."

"I was a fool for making such a promise, and you were a fool for believing me!" Marty argued. "You are my _husband_, John. Is it so wrong for me to wish for a single evening with you? I wish you would tell me about your day, or about your work. I would listen to you talk about the buttons on your jacket if you would only address me! Why will you not let me be a part of your life?"

Angry tears reddened Marty's eyes. Her tears made John feel guilty for his misconduct towards her. That Marty made John feel so guilty further fueled the anger burning in John's chest. John felt as though Marty did not have the right to make him feel guilty for his relationship with Hamilton. Marty was the one who had promised John that she would not behave the very way that she was behaving. John had relied upon that promise when he had married her.

"I am going." He stated, his tone cold.

He did not wish for Marty to manipulate his feelings any longer. He walked out the door before she could say anything else. He shut the door behind him, then walked down the hall towards the stairs at a fast enough pace that, even if she tried, Marty could not keep up with.

There were a few servants milling around the mansion at the odd hour, but no one of any authority. John proceeded out of the mansion without a word to anyone. He moved towards the kitchen, which appeared to be a small stone building just a few paces away from the house.

He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. It was significantly cooler in the kitchen than it was in the house - the stone walls and open plan designed to keep the building tolerable during cooking hours was now effectively cooling the building without any fires to offset the chill. John wrapped his arms around himself and looked around for a candle to light.

Hamilton was not yet in the kitchen. John had not expected him to be in the kitchen so soon after disappearing with his wife, but he had wanted to ensure that he was in the kitchen, waiting for Hamilton the moment that he arrived. He wanted to spend every moment with Hamilton that he could. He did not know how many moments with Hamilton were in store for him. The war and their respective marriages left much uncertainty. Still, John felt as though they had much to talk about. It had been months since they had conversed beyond the wedding invitation and John's polite acceptance.

John waited for about half an hour. The candle that he had lit was dripping wax onto the table slowly. John spent the time thinking about what he might say to Hamilton. He tried not to think about all that he had said to Marty during their argument prior to his departure.

When Hamilton arrived, his hair was askew and his eyes were alight. John could not help but smile at the sight of him.

"John." Hamilton said his name as if it were a prayer.

He surged forward before John could overthink his next course of action. He placed one hand on the back of John's hair, his fingers carding through John's hair. He then moved forward, pressing his lips - slightly chapped from the winter air - against John's. John hastened to kiss him back. He did not know how far Hamilton intended to go with this act, but he would not discourage him at any point.

Hamilton had not lost his skill in the art of kissing in the time that had passed between them. In some ways, the kiss was _better_ than their last kiss had been. There was an urgency, created by the months they had spent apart, as well as a gentleness, created by the apprehension both men felt about the other's feelings. John could have gone on kissing Hamilton for the rest of his life.

They had sex in General Schuyler's kitchen on Hamilton's wedding night. The utter _wrongness_ of it all sent a thrill through John. John considered, fleetingly, that this might be the last time they had sex. The thought made him appreciate every aspect of Hamilton's body. He took extra care to memorize the dimples on either side of Hamilton's shoulder blades. He scrutinized the way Hamilton's lips parted to draw in ragged breaths. He tried to commit the sound of Hamilton's voice to memory.

He did not want to forget a single moment of it.

As time marched forward and sunrise neared, John and Hamilton were left sitting on the floor of the kitchen, propped up against the cold stone wall. They were in a state of semi-undress. Both of them suffered from goosebumps on every inch of exposed skin. Neither of them allowed those goosebumps to bully them into putting on more clothes than they had to.

"You must promise me that you will move to New York once the war is over." Hamilton said. "We will be able to have nights like this all of the time. I could meet your son after the war. I imagine he will look just like you."

"Not if he is lucky." John tried to joke.

He disliked Hamilton's easy talk of their life after the war. Hamilton did not seem to understand the possibility that there might not _be_ a life after the war. Hamilton still did not seem to grasp how fragile life - including his - was.

"You are handsome, John." Hamilton insisted. He was smiling lazily. John hoped that he would never forget that smile. "I could devote endless hours to convincing you of how handsome you are."

"I would enjoy that." John smiled slightly.

"Once the war is over." Hamilton promised, taking John's hand in his. "Once the war is over, I will dedicate an entire day, once a year, to telling you how handsome you are."

John's smile grew strained. He wished that Hamilton would stop relying on the end of the war as a means of making up for lost time. He wished that Hamilton would cease obsessing over what the two of them would do once the war ended. He wished that Hamilton would focus on what to do and what to say while they were still together.

"I love you." John said.

"I love you, too." Hamilton replied, still smiling.

There were footsteps outside of the kitchen. A glance at his watch told John that it was nearly the hour in which servants of the Schuyler family would rouse themselves and begin to prepare the mansion for another day.

"We should return to our wives." Hamilton remarked, frowning a bit. "They will wake soon."

John nodded.

His stomach ached with dread. He did not want to be separated for Hamilton - not again. Even if Hamilton's vision of their post-war life could come to fruition, their separation would still span for months, if not _years_. It was far more likely that they would be separated forever. It was nothing short of a miracle that neither of them had perished in their tenure as aides, yet. John did not trust that luck to remain intact to the end of the war.

"I will write to you." Hamilton assured John.

He was smiling brightly, unaware of the likelihood that they would never meet again. A part of John desperately wished to grab hold of Hamilton's shoulders and shake him in the hopes of impressing upon him the reality of their circumstances. The other part of him wanted to keep Hamilton like this: young, hopeful, and completely oblivious to the dangers of their world.

The latter was the side that won out.

"I will write back." John's voice was hoarse as he struggled to withhold his tears.

"I am glad - it will give me something to look forward to." Hamilton said, his voice laced with hesitation and adoration.

They were quiet for a moment. They regarded each other with awkward, faded smiles. Both of them knew that they had to get up and exit the kitchen before they were caught. Neither of them wanted to be the first to move. Neither of them wanted appear eager to leave the other.

"All right." Hamilton made the first move after a few moments.

He pushed himself off of the kitchen floor and grabbed his shirt off of the stool it had been tossed on. He took John's shirt and tossed it toward John. John caught it and began to dress himself as Hamilton did the same.

He tried desperately not to think about the fact that this could very well be his last time sharing this special, intimate part of the morning with Hamilton. Such thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. He was blinking back tears with each passing moment.

"How do I look?" Hamilton asked, turning to present himself to John.

"Very good." John replied, unable to look at him for longer than a few seconds at a time.

Hamilton nodded with a small, self-assured smile. It was a beautiful smile. There was not a hint of sadness in it.

"Well," Hamilton turned to look at the door.

How casually he could confront the idea of leaving, armed with the mistaken but genuine belief that they would see one another again. It was nothing to him to walk out that door. In Hamilton's mind, he and John had endless nights to spend together. This was only the beginning.

John nodded. He approached the door to stand beside Hamilton.

"This will likely be the last time we are able to speak privately until we are reunited again." Hamilton remarked as they exited the kitchen. They received a few curious stares from the servants walking around the property. "As you are departing this afternoon, and I will be surrounded by my in-laws."

"Mm." John agreed noncommittally.

_This will likely be the last time we are able to speak privately at all_, He thought. _Hamilton, you fool. Why can you not appreciate that?_

"I am hoping that General Washington will soon grant my numerous requests to join you and your men in South Carolina." Hamilton persisted as they walked toward the mansion. "He believes that General Cornwallis may trap himself along the coast soon. He will need more officers to orchestrate an attack."

John knew that, even if Washington were to grant Hamilton a command, he would not permit Hamilton to join him in South Carolina. It was another one of Hamilton's foolish, idealistic dreams.

"I will look forward to the day your request is granted." He said. He did not wish to be the one to disturb Hamilton's dreams.

As the lie hung in the chilly morning air, John wondered when it was that he had stopped being honest with Hamilton. When both men had been employed at Valley Forge, John could not seem to voice a single, believable lie in Hamilton's presence. Now, he was lying better than a gold-starved merchant.

"This is where we must part ways." Hamilton said as they reached the side door to the mansion. Upon entering the mansion, each man would return to his own respective wife. It would not do for them to be seen running throughout the mansion together.

"Very well." John's voice was growing quieter with each passing sentiment.

"It has been a pleasure seeing you, John." Hamilton spoke as though they were two acquaintances parting ways after a jovial party. It made John's heart ache. "I look forward to seeing you again - hopefully, when General Washington approves my request to command some men in South Carolina."

"I look forward to that, as well." John could barely speak, for fear that he would suddenly burst into tears.

He knew that there would be no reunion in South Carolina.

Hamilton took care to look around for a moment before leaning forward. He could not plant a kiss on John's lips - to do such would be a dangerous risk - but he managed to brush his lips against John's cheek lightly. Such an act could be defended if only Hamilton said that he wished to quietly convey information for John's ears only.

John did not mind a kiss to his cheek instead of one on his lips. In some ways, this act felt more intimate. It felt more final. This was not their typical way of saying goodbye - it was special.

"I will see you soon, John." Hamilton said.

"Goodbye, Hamilton." John said.

Hamilton pushed open the door to the mansion. Once inside, they quickly separated. Hamilton moved for the west wing of the mansion, where his bedroom with Eliza was situated. John moved for the east wing of the mansion, where Marty was undoubtedly skulking in their own bedroom.

John could hear Hamilton's footsteps as he walked. Each step made John's eyes burn. Each step brought Hamilton farther away from him, possibly forever.

John did not care if the war was won. It was a traitorous thought for an officer, but it was his own. He did not care if his father was the president of Congress, or if he was a pauper. He did not care of the child Marty was to bear would be a boy, or a girl. He cared only about Hamilton. He cared that Hamilton survived the war in spite of his own foolishness. He cared about seeing Hamilton's lazy smile at the end of a long day once more. He cared about having someone worth fighting for.

By the time John reached his bedroom, a few large tears had rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks. They splashed on the hardwood floor with reckless abandon. The boards would warp. John did not care.

He opened the door. He wished that Marty would be asleep, or elsewhere.

He was not granted such luck.

Marty was sitting on the bed, still dressed in her nightclothes. Her eyes were bloodshot - whether from a lack of sleep or from anger, John could not tell. Her expression changed as John stepped into the room. It went from one of anger to one of confused empathy.

"Husband, what -?" She started.

John could not bear it any longer. He moved forward, voluntarily placing himself in Marty's arms for the first time in their marriage. He knelt on the floor before her, with his head in her lap. He cried like a child.

He wept for the life he might have had in a different world. He wept for Hamilton, who did not yet know what heartbreak awaited them in some unexpected future. He wept for himself, for he would miss endless days of Hamilton's smiles, and endless nights of Hamilton's love.

"There now, husband." Marty comforted him as best she could. She smoothed his hair down with her hands. "All will be well."

All would not be well.

And so John wept.

**Alexander Hamilton**

John departed the morning following Alexander's wedding. General Schuyler was kind enough to provide John and his wife with a large breakfast before they left, which Alexander and Eliza attended. Alexander had attempted to make polite conversation with John, but his sour-faced wife seemed determined to block any conversation between them. John did not protest when his wife would answer questions meant for him. Alexander wondered if John felt more loyalty to his wife than he had originally told Alexander.

After breakfast, John and his wife's bags were loaded into the carriage meant to carry John's wife. John's horse was saddled and held beside the carriage. John and his wife observed as their bags were transferred from the mansion to the carriage. They talked quietly among themselves. It was odd for Alexander, watching John interact with his wife in that way.

He had always believed that he and John had been a team. Now, it seemed that John was a part of a different team. It was a team that Alexander was not a part of.

John approached Alexander, presumably to say goodbye. His wife started to follow him. John turned to look at her, his mouth curved down into a mild frown.

"If I could impose upon you a moment of privacy, my dear." He said.

If his wife objected, she did not say so. She cast Alexander a withering glare before approaching the carriage. She allowed Philip Schuyler to help her into the carriage while John spoke with Alexander.

"Be safe, Hamilton." John said with some hesitation. He looked as though he would have liked to say something else.

"I am subject to no dangers other than an occasional papercut. It is you who should worry about safety." Alexander tried to joke.

John smiled slightly, but it was not a genuine smile. Alexander knew the difference.

"I mean it." John said, lowering his voice. "Take care of yourself."

Alexander smiled indulgently. John seemed to believe that he would burst into flames in his absence. Alexander knew that it was affection which drove John's concerns, but at times, it felt patronizing. Alexander did not need to hear John's words on survival. Alexander had survived on his own for nearly ten years. John had been looked after by his father and his father's wealthy social circle - Washington included - for his entire life. John could not tell Alexander how to survive.

"I will." He promised John.

He did not wish to spoil their goodbye with a cold reminder of his survival skills.

John nodded. He observed Alexander for a moment, as though he was trying to memorize his face. When he had satisfied himself, he turned to approach his horse. Several servants stepped forward to help John onto his horse, but he did not need help. He swung himself up onto the horse with his usual amount of grace. It was the sort of grace that could not be learned - the aristocratic were born with it.

Alexander watched in admiration as John kicked his horse forward. The carriage carrying his wife started after him.

_After the war, John_, He thought to himself as Eliza took his hand in hers. It was warm, compared to the cold winter air. _After the war, everything will be as it ought to be._


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

**John Laurens**

John and Marty's journey back to South Carolina was a safe, but arduous trip. John and Marty spent one night staying at the home of a family that Marty knew. They were all very pleased to meet John. They made a great fuss of his participation in the war. John did not like being fussed over.

Once John and Marty had retired for the evening, John was again reduced to tears. Marty tried to suggest to John that Hamilton was not worth the heartbreak that John was causing himself. She did not understand - she could not understand. She did not know what it was to love Hamilton.

The next day, John and Marty arrived at the camp in South Carolina. The men appeared to be in good spirits. John addressed them formally, struggling to remain cheerful, then was forced to greet them individually. Marty was better at winning over the soldiers than John was. She distributed treats that she had gotten at the Schuyler mansion. They appeared to be leftovers from the wedding feast. She had the good graces to tell the men that the treats were courtesy of Colonel Hamilton and his beautiful new bride.

John might have appreciated Marty more, had he not been overwhelmed by thoughts of Hamilton. He wished to do nothing but dwell on the melancholy that his separation from Hamilton caused. He wished to be left alone, where he might cry and pour over all of the letters he had ever received from Hamilton. He had kept them - all of them.

"He is just a man." Marty whispered to John whenever she noticed his attention fading.

John shook his head.

Hamilton was not _just_ a man. Hamilton was the _only_ man.

* * *

_My Dear Colonel Laurens,_

_I thank you most sincerely for your honorable attendance at my wedding. I wish that we had more time to converse before you were to return to your command, but I wish you great success in your endeavors._

_Though our exchanges were short, I hope that I was able to impress upon you the value and esteem to which you are held in my heart. Would that I could demonstrate in my actions rather than my words how sincerely I love you._

_Know that, though my obligations may create a doubtful appearance, it is you alone who have overturned my grave thoughts about mankind. I had entered the war quite cynical about the nature of man and believed myself content to proceed through life without forming attachments. You have stolen into my affection quite without my consent. It is a trespass I forgive you for most readily. There is none more worthy of my affection than you._

_I end this letter with pleasure, as I have gratified my desire to lavish praise upon you through the only kind of intercourse now in my power._

_Adieu._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton_

John's hands trembled as he held Hamilton's most welcome letter. Hamilton had expressed his love beautifully, as he always did. Though it was not the same as hearing those wonderful words from Hamilton's mouth - _Hamilton's_ _mouth_...John had to banish those thoughts, for fear of Marty walking into his quarters at an inopportune time - John was glad that Hamilton had written them for him to read over and over again.

John picked up his quill. He did not wish to lose the warm feeling of adoration blooming in his chest; at least, not until he had written a similarly warm response to Hamilton's letter. He was not as good at expressing his feelings as Hamilton was. He did not possess the special skill of combining words in the perfect string to form something beautiful.

_My Dear Colonel Hamilton,_

_Your letter has reached my person at a most welcome time. I find myself the victim of irrepressible melancholy in your absence. Were fate a gracious lady, she would permit me the favor of lying in your arms once more. I have never felt so safe as when I am in your arms._

_Rain is constant here. It dampens the spirit, as well as the earth. My men are moving slower than they would on a sunny day. I can only pray that the British are facing similar lethargy due to the weather. Otherwise, I fear a battle in which my men will move very slowly, much to General Washington's detriment._

_On the subject of General Washington - have you heard rumors of Congress' displeasure with the current posture of the war? While you and I recognize that the losses suffered are through no defect of character on General Washington's part, there is a very real chance that he may be replaced. According to my father, Congress favors General Horatio Gates. My father continues to publicly favor General Washington, but cannot alone ensure General Washington's happy tenure as our favored commander-in-chief. I pray you inform General Washington of these tumultuous circumstances. Perhaps he would heap favor upon you for informing him so. Perhaps he would permit you to join me in South Carolina._

_As winter melts away and it once again becomes an appropriate season for battle, you must remember the promise you made to me as I departed the magnificent Schuyler estate. Jealousy guard your safety, if not for yourself, then for me. I would rather your head remain on your shoulders. It is a nice head._

_I am not so talented a writer as you, I must profess, but the feelings which you spoke of in your letter are reciprocated, if not elevated, in my own heart. I love you - better than I love anyone else, and better than I could love anyone else. It is my dearest wish that you be returned to me, be it at the close of the war, or, heaven permitting, at some nearer time._

_Be true._

_Yours,_

_John Laurens_

"Husband, I am being met with constant questions about winter clothing." Marty entered the quarters before John could seal his letter.

John scrambled to hide both letters - his and Hamilton's. Marty's perception of Hamilton had not improved since the fated night when she realized just how expansive Hamilton's ability to break John's heart was. She had advised John to avoid Hamilton as best he could while maintaining professionalism. John did not have the heart to tell her that, though her advice was likely sound, he did not have the strength to rid himself of Hamilton.

"Oh, are you writing a letter to Congress?" Marty stepped forward before John could think of a way to hide the letters. She snatched the letter that John had freshly penned. Her sharp eyes scanned each line. After a mere few seconds, her face clouded over with disapproval.

"John." She said.

She did not need to expand upon her iteration of John's name - her tone made clear all that she wished to convey. John's ears burned with embarrassment.

"You have no right to read my correspondence without my consent." John reminded her icily. "Kindly refrain from doing so in the future."

He snatched the letter out of her hand. The parchment crinkled in protest, threatening to rip if it was further manhandled.

"You are wasting your time with this..._correspondence_ with Colonel Hamilton that you should be devoting to your men. There are men freezing in the cold, without adequate clothing and food. Instead of writing to Congress on their behalf, you would waste away your days writing a man who does not care for you! Where are your priorities, husband? Where is that patriot spirit that used to move you? Has Colonel Hamilton robbed you of all of your sensibilities?" Marty berated him, keeping her voice low enough that John's men would not overhear.

John's face turned a dark shade of red.

"How dare you address me in such a way?" He demanded. He did not take similar care to govern his volume. "You are my _wife_, not my master. You will mind your place."

Marty's eyes widened in surprise. John had never dared to speak to her in so rough a manner before. Beyond that, she had seemed to lull herself into a false sense of marital bliss following Hamilton's wedding to Eliza Schuyler. She had believed that, because she had seen John suffering from heartbreak caused by Hamilton, she now enjoyed a closeness to John which she had not enjoyed before. John had permitted her to believe such, as it made her easier to manage around the camp.

"It is true, I am your _wife_." Marty finally said, her voice an angry whisper. "If I am not permitted to object to your infidelity, then who should be?"

"No one," John said, decidedly. "You must grin and bear it as your betters have done before you."

Marty slapped him.

John had heard of women slapping men when they were too fresh, but he had never considered that he might be struck by his wife. He would have never guessed that such an assault might hurt. His cheek stung from Marty's slap. His pride stung from her presumption.

As John stood there, blinking at Marty in a stupor, Marty turned on her heel and exited John's office. John watched her go. He was left standing where he was for a very long time, considering every choice that had led him to that exact exchange.

* * *

Marty went into labor six hours after her argument with John. The wife of one of the enlisted men under John's command stepped into his office to tell him so shortly after it began.

It was a long labor. The wives who had followed their husbands, like Marty, tended to her. The camp physician was present among the ladies, but had confessed to John that he knew very little about childbirth. John sat outside of the bedroom, waiting.

After the first few hours, one of the wives emerged from the room, her face pale. John watched as she fetched a pail of water. He could not command his limbs to move. He was stricken with fear. The length of time and the expression on the woman's face spelled out an upsetting reality: something was wrong.

"Is my wife well?" He heard himself ask as the woman returned with the pail of water. "I-is she...?"

"We are all doing our best, Colonel Laurens." The woman replied mildly before hurrying into the room.

John let out a ragged sigh, then dropped his head into his hands.

He knew of many women who had perished during childbirth. It was not an uncommon cause of death. He knew that Marty's body had incurred much abuse since she had fallen pregnant - this increased her chances of dying in childbirth.

He wished that he had shared a much more pleasant conversation with her before she had gone into labor. He wished that he had forgiven her for her trespasses. He wished that he had said something kind. He wished that, for the first time in their marriage, he had uttered the words 'I love you'. He did love her, he realized. He did not love her the way that he loved Hamilton, but he loved her the way one loved the familiarity of one's own home.

He would have preferred Marty to die with kinder words committed to her memory.

* * *

Frances Eleanor Laurens was born on a cold morning after a very long, very difficult labor. She had a swollen leg. The physician cut some excess flesh from the leg after assuring John that the process would be safe and beneficial to the child.

John entered the room as soon as the wives and the physician had looked over both Marty and Frances and guaranteed that their lives were no longer in danger. He looked first to Marty. Her palor was frighteningly inhuman. She looked at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

"I'm sorry." She said weakly.

"Sorry?" John echoed, uncomprehending. "Wife, all of the faults are mine, I -"

"She is apologizing for the condition of the child, sir." One of the wives stepped in, carrying a heap of cloth that must have been John's child. "It is a girl."

John shook his head, dismissing this criticism.

"Let it be a girl." He said, taking the baby from the woman. "So long as she is healthy."

There was a small spot of blood on the bundle, where the physician had cut the excess from the swollen leg. The baby was now asleep, her face still red from the screaming and squalling she had done to object to the physician's treatment of her. She was so small. Her tiny lips pursed in her sleep. Her dark eyelashes dusted her cheeks. Her small, wrinkled hands curled into tight fists. Soon she would be using those fists to injure men, just like her mother.

John turned to look back at Marty. He was certain that she would be proud of creating such a thing. Instead, she was asleep. John turned to look at the physician.

"She will recover?" He demanded.

"Well, Colonel, nothing is certain…" The physician tried to demur.

John stared at the physician, waiting for him to continue.

"I believe that she will recover nicely." The physician continued. He may have been lying for John's benefit purely out of fear for his position, but John did not care. He contented himself with the physician's words, false or not.

"I will retire to my office to allow my wife to rest." John said.

He did not wish to do anything which might injure Marty's chances at recovery. He nodded towards the women and the physician who assisted Marty by way of thanking them.

"Uh, Colonel Laurens." The physician hesitated. "The baby must stay with its mother. I I will ensure that your wife and child are monitored throughout the evening while you are in your office."

"Oh." John had not realized that he could not bring the baby with him. "Oh, well...there's no need for that, Dr. Merryweather - though I thank you for your diligence. If someone must remain with Mrs. Laurens and my daughter, I suppose it should be me."

The physician bowed his head to John.

"Colonel Laurens." He said. He then ushered the wives out of the room, affording the new family some privacy.

John sighed, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs in the corner of the bedroom. Marty sat in that chair when she read at night. She was currently reading something by Shakespeare. John did not care much for Shakespeare's writing, based on what Marty read aloud.

He looked down at the newborn child in his arms. He wondered whether he ought to be disappointed that the child was a girl. He knew that his father would be disappointed. His entire family - Marty, included - would expect a son to follow this daughter. John did not much care whether he had a son or a daughter. In some ways, a daughter was easier than a son. A daughter would be free from the responsibilities of school, politics, and money. John did not have to spend nights agonizing over ensuring his daughter's success. He only had to love her.

The baby had fallen asleep while John considered her gender. John gently placed her in the bed beside Marty. He knew that Marty would want to see her once she awoke. He left the room just long enough to retrieve a quill and two pieces of parchment - the first was his letter to Hamilton, the second was blank.

John ripped up the letter to Hamilton. He set the quill to the paper and began to write a new letter.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Alexander found that, while he had not expected to enjoy married life, he liked being a part of Eliza's family. He enjoyed the way that General Schuyler would pat his shoulder and call Alexander 'son'. He liked the way that Peggy would joke over breakfast. She had the most infectious laugh that Alexander had ever heard. He liked lounging in the library and arguing over the merits of books and theories with Angelica. He liked the way that Mrs. Schuyler would encourage him to eat more at every meal.

He had never had a family before. He enjoyed the one that he had married into very much.

As much as he enjoyed his new family, though, Alexander did miss the war. He missed the sense of purpose he received from completing a series of grueling tasks each day. He missed the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. He missed John.

A letter had arrived for him one morning. One of the servants placed it underneath Alexander's plate before breakfast. Alexander recognized John's meticulous handwriting straight away. That morning, Alexander did not laugh at Peggy's jokes as much as he usually did. He found that it was agonizing, having to wait to read the contents of John's letter.

After breakfast, Alexander quickly excused himself to the library to answer John's letter. Angelica offered to join him. Alexander lied and told her that he was handling confidential material, far too sensitive for her eyes. It was clear that no one quite believed his reason, but the excuse permitted Alexander to read John's words in peace.

_Colonel Hamilton,_

_It gives me great pleasure to inform you that my wife and I have welcomed a daughter into the world as of January 10th. We have decided to name her Frances Eleanor. Though I am informed that it is far too soon to tell, it appears that Frances favors her mother in appearance._

_I appreciate the generosity of your last letter, and the pledges you made within. Trust that my sentiments resemble yours, though my new obligations must adjust them appropriately._

_I trust that by the time you return to General Washington's camp, you will become aware that there is a shift in the Congressional attitude towards General Washington. My father remains a loyal friend to the General, but other members cannot boast such loyalty. They think to replace General Washington with General Gates. Additionally, General Lee has made indiscreet comments which would suggest that he believes himself to be the natural replacement of General Washington. No one who has met you would dare accuse you of disloyalty to General Washington, which is why you must take care to promote his interests as best you can in the position you have been entrusted with. General Washington's downfall will be your downfall, too._

_Have care for your safety._

_Your obedient servant,_

_John Laurens_

Alexander set John's letter down on the desk, frowning. He had been smiling when he had begun the letter. His heart sank to the bottom of his chest.

John had not returned Alexander's professions of love - not in the slightest. He had attempted to state that Alexander's feelings were returned, but had then said that his own feelings were muted by his new obligations as a father. Alexander might have expected John to retract his love, had he been granted a _son_, but Alexander had not expected to be ousted over a _daughter_.

There was a knock on the library door. Eliza cracked open the door and poked her head through the crack before Alexander could say anything.

"Are you almost finished working?" She asked with a shy smile. "Angelica and I are going to play with the new puppies. We would love little more than your company."

"I'll be right there." Alexander murmured, still studying John's letter.

He did not know how to respond to such a letter. He did not even know if he wanted to respond to such a letter.

Instead, he stood from his chair and followed Eliza out of the library.

* * *

Alexander returned to Washington's camp after a short furlough.

Two days after his return, Alexander requested a command. Washington rejected his request. Alexander found that he was not surprised, but he was angry.

"How would it look, Hamilton?" Washington reminded him, exasperated. He paced the length of his quarters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How would it look if you were to return from a longer furlough than the enlisted men could dream of, to receive a promotion? I cannot reward your idleness."

"You were the one to recommend I take a longer furlough following my wedding!" Alexander exclaimed. "I believe it is slander for you to accuse me of idleness. I work harder than anyone else at this camp."

Washington paused to look in Alexander's direction. His eyes were narrow.

"I said no." He ground out.

Alexander glowered at Washington. He did not understand why Washington promoted others before him. He did not understand why he, who was the best at his job, was held back from realizing his potential. It seemed that Washington wanted nothing more than for Alexander to remain in obscurity while everyone else muddled forward. Washington wished to keep all of the glory for himself.

"Yes, sir." Alexander spat out, the words tasting like vinegar.

Washington nodded, placated by Alexander's humble acceptance of his rejection. His vanity was astounding, especially when contrasted to the letters and accounts of people who described Washington as humble and respectful.

Alexander stormed out of the room before Washington dismissed him. It was a small act of disobedience, one which Alexander knew that Washington would tolerate. While holding Washington's favor did not seem to grant Alexander any leverage in attaining a command, it permitted Alexander to defy Washington more than any other man dared.

Once he reached his quarters, empty without John, he plopped down at his desk. He grabbed a piece of parchment, and, without addressing it to anyone in particular, wrote out the words:

_I hate General Washington._


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

**John Laurens**

John found that, while he loathed being a husband, he liked being a father very much. He found himself distracted from his work, for he always wanted to see what new and exciting venture Frances had set out on. He listened to Marty, now, so long as she spoke about the child. His correspondence with Hamilton consisted entirely of stories about Frances. Hamilton's responses were always stiff and congratulatory. John wished that Hamilton could meet Frances. He was certain that Hamilton would adore the little girl just as much as he did.

Unfortunately, it quickly became evident that camp was no place to raise a child. Marty had to keep her locked away in the bedroom all day and night, for fear that she would contract one of the diseases which were running rampant among the camp. She was too young to experiment with the inoculation procedures that both John and Marty had undergone when they first set up at camp.

Every morning that John drilled and trained his men, he looked around camp and was acutely aware of all of the trouble which might befall Frances once she began to walk. There were broken bayonets littering the ground, glinting in the sunlight in a manner which could easily attract a toddler. The camp bordered the woods, where many predatory animals resided. The camp was full of soldiers who had less than stellar reputations. John feared that if Frances learned to talk at camp, her first word would be a profanity.

Marty had reluctantly agreed to return home with Frances once she and the child were well enough to travel. While it was a tremendous risk to travel north, where the British occupied a majority of the land, John took comfort in the fact that the wives of far more important men had traveled in far more dangerous areas and had arrived at their intended destination perfectly safe.

He avoided telling Marty how much he would miss Frances. He feared that if he told her, Marty would use the information as leverage in future arguments. Despite the obvious dangers to a child around camp, she made it clear that she wished to remain at camp with John. She enjoyed being around John, now that he was repentant of the things he had said just hours before Frances was born. He had been - and still was - far too ashamed of himself to utter another unkind word to her. Instead, he had tried very hard to be the sort of husband that Marty wanted. It was exhausting work.

* * *

Marty and Frances left camp when Frances was three weeks old. John gave Marty his two best horses to pull the carriage.

"I will miss you." Marty said, standing outside of the carriage. She looked at John earnestly, clearly hoping that he would make some declaration of love. Though John had been kind to her since Frances' birth, he had not told her that he loved her. He did not think he could bear to say such words.

"And I, you." John tried to mean it.

John then turned his attention to Frances. She was squirming in Marty's arms. John could feel a smile blooming on his face. He was certain that Marty noticed that he reserved his brightest smiles for Frances.

"And you, my darling, I will miss you." John could not help the way that his voice lifted an octave. He loved the little girl so. "You mind your manners on the journey, as it will already be extremely difficult for your mother."

As Frances was still only a baby, she wriggled in Marty's arms and made a vague sort of cooing noise. It was enough for John.

"Take care." He urged his wife.

"I will." Marty assured him. "And I will write you when we arrive home safely."

John nodded. He hoped that Marty would include infinite detail about Frances in her letters. He loathed to miss a single second of her childhood. He preferred to be a father rather than being an officer.

"Goodbye, husband." Marty handed Frances to one of the servants - paid, naturally - who had accompanied her to camp. John watched the transfer of the child with narrowed eyes.

Marty leaned forward to kiss John once her hands were free. John accepted the kiss without offering anything in return.

"Goodbye." He said, helping Marty into the carriage. The servant then handed Frances to Marty. Again, John observed the exchange carefully. He did not trust servants to handle Frances as carefully as he would.

The servant climbed into the carriage after Frances was suitably settled onto Marty's lap. The door was shut behind the servant. The coachman clicked his tongue, urging the horses forward. John stood where he was, watching as Marty and Frances rode away from him. He suddenly felt very alone.

* * *

_Dear Colonel Laurens,_

_It is with my most sincere pleasure that I write to you on behalf of General Washington. Your presence is requested - though, not optional - at our camp (the location of which I must not disclose in writing, but which may be confirmed by your suspicions and friends along the route) for the purposes of a war conference._

_Attending the meeting will be General Washington, General Lee, Major General Lafayette, General Greene, and General Knox. Please prepare your thoughts and materials accordingly._

_It is my own desire that your wife and daughter do not obligate you to return to South Carolina immediately following the meeting. I would enjoy a few days more of your company, were you to permit it._

_Adieu._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton_

Hamilton's letter arrived fifteen days after Marty and Frances' departure. John was delighted by its contents. He had suffered fierce loneliness in the absence of his family, the likes of which he had not dreamt possible. Now, he was presented with the opportunity to be reconnected with Hamilton. He had not dared to believe that he would see Hamilton again - at least, not until the end of the war.

"Gentlemen." John practically glowed as he emerged from his quarters and addressed whomever happened to be around. "It appears that I have been summoned by General Washington for consultation on our progress."

There were interested murmurs among the men present. A few soldiers approached the small gaggle outside of John's quarters, eager to see what the fuss was about. No doubt, they hoped that John was distributing extra food or brandy.

"I will be accompanied by a few soldiers who have distinguished themselves in the months that I have observed you all." John continued, forcing his voice to reach a volume that he was not altogether comfortable with. "You will be given the opportunity to meet General Washington, yourself. Perhaps you will be able to impress him, as you have impressed me."

The murmurs grew a bit more excited. There were rumors that Washington's men received better rations. John knew that the rumors could not have been further from the truth - Washington imposed stricter rations and harsher punishments for stealing food from neighboring towns - but he would allow his men to hope for something better. The men needed to believe there was something better to be had, or they would lose their will to fight.

"Now," John could not stop smiling. It was likely that his men were puzzled by his sudden enthusiasm. John had been the very picture of despondent since Marty had left, bringing Frances with her. "I will depart from camp at the end of the week. I will select the men who will accompany the day prior. You all have the time between now and the end of the week to impress me. I recommend you hurry to the drills being run by Colonel Gregory."

**Alexander Hamilton**

John arrived two weeks after Alexander had sent him the letter at Washington's request. He arrived without his wife, and without his child. He brought with him only a few men who seemed more interested in Washington than they were in John.

He looked older. He still looked like John, of course, but a different version of John. His features seemed more defined than they had been when Alexander had last seen him. He walked with a confidence that Alexander had not known John possessed. His facial expressions were more reserved. When he spoke with Washington, Alexander could not see the hatred burning through his eyes the way that he had been able to just a few months ago. Alexander wondered how this new, mature John might view him.

He did not have to wait long to find out.

After exchanging courteous words with Washington, John afforded Lafayette a friendly smile and a handshake. The pair exchanged a few words. Lafayette laughed. John smiled indulgently, but withheld his laughter. John did not laugh as freely as other men did. He treated his laughter as a prize for only the truly worthy.

Once he was through with Lafayette, he turned to look at Alexander. Alexander smiled as their eyes met.

"Hamilton." John still addressed him informally. Alexander was glad of it. He never quite knew how John felt about him at any given moment. One moment, John might love him. The next, he might be in the throes of jealousy and resentful of Alexander's sheer existence.

"John." Alexander moved forward.

John extended his hand for a handshake, likely wishing to appeal to the formal etiquette that Washington imposed on his men. Alexander chuckled, then pulled John into a warm embrace. He did not mind if Washington disapproved of this display of friendship. He had witnessed Lafayette kissing Washington's cheeks after the pair had been separated for mere days. He would allow himself the small pleasure of holding John in his arms.

"We have much to discuss." Alexander told John as they separated. "Much has changed since you left our company."

"I would enjoy that very much." John agreed with a hesitant smile. Alexander could not guess the reason for John's hesitation. "Though I fear the time for such conversation may be limited, as we plan our strategies for a battle."

"Of course." Alexander forced himself to continue smiling.

John had been recalled for the specific purpose of assisting Washington with the stand he planned to make against the British at Monmouth. It was critical that Monmouth be a success, as many of Washington's former battles had been failures. With Congress discussing replacing him with the more successful General Gates, Washington _needed_ a victory.

Alexander could not be surprised at Washington for packing John's schedule full of preparations for the imminent battle.

"Colonel Laurens." Aaron Burr stepped forward to shake John's hand. "It is a pleasure to see you again. I have enjoyed your correspondence very much. How is your daughter?"

Alexander clenched his jaw. Aaron had been writing to John since their initial introduction. Alexander was made aware of this by Aaron's constant references to letters which he received from John. Alexander suspected that Aaron wrote to John predominantly to bother him. John did not seem to realize this, though, and Alexander did not wish to diminish any friendship John wished to feel for Aaron.

"She is very well, thank you." John afforded Aaron a smile that Alexander had not seen before.

Alexander knew from John's letters that he was fond of his daughter. The extent of John's affection, Alexander admitted to himself, was something he may have underestimated. He imagined that John's wife was reading all of his letters, only approving long passages in which John described his daughter's miserable attempts at speaking. Seeing the smile on John's face, Alexander realized that he may have been wrong. John may have loved his daughter as much as he boasted in his letters.

"I am glad of it." Aaron smiled pleasantly. Alexander knew the smile was a false one. John's expression suggested that he was not aware of the false nature of Aaron's smile. "Now, Colonel Laurens, if I might escort you to your quarters. General Washington has asked me to compile a folder of documents - copies, of course - which might assist you in the meeting with the war council tomorrow."

"I would appreciate that greatly, thank you." John agreed. He nodded in Alexander's direction with an apologetic smile. Alexander forced himself to smile back.

Aaron gestured towards the quarters, then began to walk with John in that direction. Washington turned to Lafayette, discussing strategic positions which might be entrusted to John.

Alexander was left standing on his own. He remembered a time, not so distant, in which everyone appeared to be vying for his attention. Now, Washington was preoccupied with achieving a victory in battle and John was preoccupied with the command he had been awarded.

"Sir." Alexander did not like being on his own. He had been on his own enough for one lifetime. He knew that he could get away with interrupting Washington in front of Lafayette.

Washington gave an overexaggerated sigh, then turned to look at Alexander. His expression was good-natured, despite the pressures of the looming battle. Alexander knew that such patience was limited. He would have to phrase his request very delicately.

"Might I speak with you privately, Your Excellency?" He suggested in an exaggerated humble tone. Though Washington boasted humility as one of his most impressive traits, Alexander was perfectly aware that he enjoyed every ounce of power that he held.

Washington considered this request for a moment, his lips pursed. Alexander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lafayette stood beside Washington, shifting his weight from one foot to another and fidgeting with his hands uncomfortably.

"Very well." Washington agreed, at last.

Both Washington and Alexander knew that Washington would consent to the meeting, but it was important to Washington that Alexander pretend otherwise. Alexander disliked how many rules were involved in his relationship with Washington. He much preferred John, who had no rules whatsoever.

"You may visit my quarters at nine o'clock." Washington said.

Alexander nodded.

"Yes, sir." He said with reluctance.

* * *

"Hamilton!" John emerged from his temporary quarters at supper time. He looked tired, but pleasant. He smiled in Alexander's direction as he approached the circle.

Alexander rose from his seated position at Washington's side. He felt Washington's disapproving stare, but ignored it. He had an infinite amount of time to appease Washington's insecurities about John. He only had a few days to enjoy John's presence.

"John." Alexander moved away from Washington. He joined John a few feet away, near a few seats available and away from eavesdropping ears.

"I see that the food conditions have not improved." John noted, nodding to where his men were eating some murky stew and fire cakes with great reluctance.

"No." Alexander did not want to talk about the food at camp. "They have not."

The men were silent for a moment. Alexander sat down in one of the seats. John followed suit. Both of them looked around, hoping to witness something which might strike up a conversation. It seemed that, while apart, they had forgotten how to talk to each other. At least, they had forgotten how to talk to each other in front of strangers, with their clothes on and their intimacies a great secret.

"So, your daughter…" Alexander did not particularly want to talk about John's daughter, but it seemed to be a safe topic. "Is she residing in South Carolina while you are creating a new nation for her?"

John smiled. It was the same smile that he had afforded Aaron earlier. Alexander found that he did not enjoy the smile as much as he enjoyed John's other smiles. This smile seemed reserved for John's family, which Alexander was not a part of.

"No. My wife and I agreed that a camp was no place for a young child." John replied, his smile fading somewhat. "Though I was loathe to part with her, I take comfort in her safety. She and my wife are staying with my father in Philadelphia."

Alexander nodded. He was relieved that John brought up his father. Henry Laurens was the president of the Continental Congress. Alexander could talk about the Continental Congress.

"Speaking of your father," Alexander worked at a casual tone. "Have you heard anything further about General Gates' ambitions to replace General Washington? I do not wish to give credence to such rumors, but I fear if someone does not, General Washington will find that those who are disloyal to him will have abused his oversight on the matter."

"Congress remains enamored with General Gates following Saratoga." John replied, faking a regretful tone. Alexander did not know if John would be disappointed to see Washington replaced. Given his father's position, John's own job would be secure regardless of which commander-in-chief was appointed.

"One of Washington's former aides was exchanging letters with General Lee, supposing that Lee might be one of the candidates to replace Washington." Alexander had been holding onto this piece of gossip until he could speak with John in person. After witnessing the dangers of mail falling into the wrong hands firsthand, he was not eager to gossip about Washington in a letter.

"How do you know?" John shifted in his seat, leaning closer to Alexander. His eyes lit up with excitement.

"Washington believed the letter was intended for him and opened it." Alexander replied, grinning. "Once he realized the nature of its contents, he forwarded the letter to Lee with a note of apology. Lafayette was present when Lee received the letter. He said that his face went white as the snow. Lee has been avoiding Washington as best he can since."

John threw his head back and laughed. It was an unbridled display of mirth which was uncommon at camp. Everyone looked in their direction. Some of the men scowled, having lost all of their own sense of joy. The rest of them smiled, happy to be reminded that joy still existed in the world.

Alexander's chest warmed at the sound of John's laughter. He racked his brain for anything else which might make John laugh again.

"Poor General," John chuckled, his volume lowering. "It must have been a shock for him to receive a letter which was anything less than a commendation."

Alexander's grin widened. It had been a long time since he had been around someone equally comfortable with criticizing Washington's obvious shortcomings. He had missed the way that John would laugh at Washington's pompous behavior and self-righteous anger behind closed doors.

"He has grown rather paranoid following the incident." Alexander murmured, risking a glance in Washington's direction. Washington was conversing with Lafayette, obviously trying to ignore the scene that Alexander and John were creating.

"Paranoid?" John echoed, quirking an eyebrow.

"He instructs us not to open letters which are not expressly addressed to him." Alexander explained, glad to have found a topic which he and John could discuss. "Though once or twice I have seen him struggling to read through thinner envelopes to see what other mutinies may be stirring in his own quarters. All of his aides have been suspected of disloyalty once or twice in his particularly emphatic tempers."

John let out a sigh and shook his head.

"One almost feels bad for the man." He said.

"Almost." Alexander warned him from affording Washington too much sympathy.

"I would like to see you tonight." John said, rather out of the blue.

Alexander looked at him, surprised. John was usually not so forward. It was usually up to Alexander to arrange such rendezvous. Alexander found that he did not mind that John was expressing his desire to trespass upon Alexander's quarters. He liked that John wished to spend time with him just as much as Alexander did.

"I would like that, too." Alexander waited for John to supply the rest of the details. He would not seek to take over this proposition.

"Would you come to my quarters tonight at nine o'clock?" John requested. "If anyone asks, you might tell them that I have questions about the documents in the file General Washington provided me."

"Nine o'clock." Alexander echoed regretfully. John's face fell at the tone of Alexander's voice. He thought that his advance was being rejected. "John, I would very much like to see you tonight, but I've already promised…"

"All right." John's cheeks reddened. He busied himself with cleaning up his few dishes. He was preparing himself to storm off. John was always storming off. "No, it's all right. I understand. I have been away for months, and your loyalty was never something which we discussed…"

"No, John." Alexander caught John's hand in his before he could run away. John looked around the camp in horror. Only a few men had noticed the exchange, and none of them cared very much at all. They had seen worse from Alexander and John.

Alexander dropped John's hand, regardless. He did not wish to embarrass him so thoroughly. John returned to his seat begrudgingly. He did not meet Alexander's eyes. He had always been so awfully jealous.

"There isn't another." Alexander assured John in a low voice. He ducked his head in an attempt to meet John's eyes. "I have agreed to meet General Washington tonight at nine o'clock only to ask for a command."

John began to pull away at the mention of Washington's name. Alexander hurried to justify himself further.

"It is nothing, John." He persisted. "If he grants me the command, I will excuse myself to prepare for tomorrow's meeting. If he denies me the command, I will accept his answer and excuse myself for the evening. I will go to your quarters immediately afterwards. On my honor."

"Your honor." John echoed with a humorless laugh.

Alexander swallowed the injury with as much dignity as he could.

"Please, John." It was his only remaining argument.

John let out a huffy sigh and rose from his seat. This time, Alexander made no attempt to stop him. He watched as John walked off in the direction of his quarters. He could only hope that he had not angered John so quickly after being reunited with him.

* * *

"No."

It did not surprise Alexander that Washington denied his request for a command without a second thought, but it did anger him. It angered him watching as French aristocrats with no military experience were awarded positions as generals and commanders, while he was chained to Washington's desk.

"Who is more qualified than me to lead the first offensive measure?" He demanded. It was an act of disrespect, but Alexander could not worry about propriety in the midst of his anger.

"There are twenty men more qualified in this camp and I only need one." Washington bit back. "I have offered the command to General Lee. If he is uncomfortable with the position, I will offer it to General Lafayette."

Alexander ground his teeth to avoid saying a word against Lee. He had learned not to mention Lee's disloyalty to Washington. To speak of the unfortunate incident would risk Washington lashing out at him; the anger reserved for Lee would suddenly be directed at Alexander.

"Very well." Alexander said with great difficulty. "Then I suppose I will retire for the evening."

"What?" Washington demanded, indignant. "You're going to leave?"

He had been expecting more from Alexander's visit. He typically received more from Alexander's visit. Alexander was typically obliging, doing everything asked of him in the hopes that he would eventually receive the recognition that he deserved.

"Yes, I am." Alexander replied. "If you'll dismiss me, _sir._"

Washington did not like this response.

"Hamilton, if you mean to manipulate me by making yourself scarce, as you have done before, I will -"

"No, sir." Alexander interrupted, his tone one of over exaggerated innocence. "I wished to converse with you on the subject of a command. Now that we have had such a conversation, I have nothing further to say to you. I believe it is now proper to take my leave of you, if you will grant it."

Washington grit his teeth.

"Granted." He permitted, his tone venomous.

Alexander bowed lower than usual, then moved for the exit of Washington's quarters. He walked straight to John's quarters, not caring if Washington watched his path from the window.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

**John Laurens**

Hamilton showed up at John's quarters following Washington's rejection of his request for a command. Though John had been removed from camp for some months, now, this felt familiar. Hamilton had always treated John as his second choice, his consolation prize.

John had refused Hamilton's advances. He remained impervious to Hamilton's constant love proclamations and pleas for forgiveness. When Hamilton had argued that he would not leave John's quarters, John did not succumb to the temptation of arguing back. He knew that Hamilton wanted to quarrel; Hamilton was better at arguing than he was and could always manage to make John question why he had been angry in the first place.

John was foolish, but he was not a fool. He knew that he would soon forgive Hamilton for his bad behavior. He still loved Hamilton just as stupidly and recklessly as he had since he first saw that charming smile of his.

He was acting angry with Hamilton as an expression of power. He was letting Hamilton know that there were repercussions for his actions, even if John's heart was still his. He wanted to be in control of their relationship, for once.

So, he calmly told Hamilton that he was welcome to sleep on the floor.

Hamilton had slept on the floor that night. He had not complained once, though John could hear him shift throughout the night. He left early the following morning, before John was even awake.

When John did wake up and saw that Hamilton had disappeared, he figured that he had reported to Washington's quarters for the day. He let out a small sigh - he had rather been looking forward to giving Hamilton the silent treatment just to see Hamilton squirm - then set to work dressing himself appropriately for the war council meeting. The meeting was to be held in Washington's private study at twelve o'clock in the afternoon.

"Good morning, Colonel Laurens." A few of John's men were eating breakfast with some of Washington's men as John emerged from his quarters. John afforded them brisk nods.

"Colonel Laurens!" The booming voice of Henry Knox burst through the camp. John looked to his right and saw the pleasant but undeniably plump man moving towards him. His cheeks were ruddy despite the unusually warm weather.

"General Knox." John forced a smile. "How do you do?"

He liked Knox - everyone liked Knox, really - but he knew that he would ask about John's father. After all, he was closer friends with Henry Laurens than he was with John. John had only spoken to him a handful of times, and never as his peer.

"Well, hell, John. How can you ask a man such a thing during this damned war?" Knox chortled. "You headed to see General Washington?"

"When he'll receive me, sir. In the meantime, I was hoping to speak with his aides to gain a better understanding of the battle intended for this summer." John replied.

He wanted to flaunt his anger to Hamilton a bit more before the meeting.

"You are a copy of your father." Knox grinned. "I guess if you are going to educate yourself on the matter, I had better do so, too. I have let Nathaniel Greene get away with being the best prepared man in the room for far too long."

"Will General Greene be joining us?" John asked conversationally.

"Sure he will. He's General Washington's protege. I daresay he wouldn't miss a meeting for the world." Knox remarked playfully. "And I believe General Washington feels compelled to host him every so often so that his soldiers might catch a glimpse of Mrs. Greene from time to time. Nothing boosts morale like beauty, eh?"

John smiled tightly. He was aware that many men in the militia were enamored with Greene's wife. He had no such inclinations. In fact, Catherine Greene had always treated him rather unkindly. She was the first to laugh and tease him about his lack of social graces with the ladies.

The pair began to walk towards Washington's quarters together. John wondered if Washington would begin the meeting early, if two of its attendees arrived early. If the meeting were to begin early, John would certainly be unprepared. He did not know if Washington expected him to speak on any of the matters being discussed in the meeting. Washington withheld information with such secrecy that it was impossible to know what Washington expected most of the time.

"Hamilton!" Almost immediately after they stepped through the door to Washington's quarters, Knox noticed Hamilton. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Hamilton looked up from his work in surprise. His eyes first moved to look at John - John could not deny the small burst of pleasure he received from being noticed first - then shifted to Knox. He smiled automatically. It was the same personable and charming smile he employed for those he hoped to get something from.

"General Knox. I found myself hoping that you would be one of our esteemed guests." Hamilton rose from his feet. Across the room, Burr did the same. Hamilton bowed just low enough to be respectful, then extended his hand towards Knox. Knox shook it eagerly.

"Have you changed your mind about my employment offer?" Knox joked. "If you work for me, you will surely see more combat than you do under General Washington's supervision."

John raised an eyebrow. He had not known that Knox had offered to employ Hamilton.

"General Knox, are you attempting to lure Colonel Hamilton from my employ?" Washington emerged from his office at the sound of Knox's booming voice. He was smiling amusedly.

"At every opportunity I get." General Knox replied unabashedly. "You have twenty aides in your employ. I have five. It is not fair that, for your multitude of aides, you also have the most industrious ones."

"The meeting is not until noon, General Knox." Washington reminded him good-naturedly.

"Thank you for the reminder, General Washington." Knox responded, equally good-natured. "I am not yet here for the meeting. I spotted Colonel Laurens strolling towards your quarters to speak with your other aides in an effort to prepare himself for today's meeting. I supposed it might be proper to prepare myself, as well."

"How very industrious of you." Washington now turned to John with an unpleasant smile.

"Sir." John nodded to Washington deferentially, not volunteering any information which would lead to further disapproval from Washington.

"Well, then, gentlemen. I suppose I will leave you to your preparations." Washington said at last. "I have preparations of my own to tend to. I will see you both at noon."

Both John and Knox nodded as Washington disappeared into his office and closed the door behind him. John was relieved that Washington had not attempted to start the meeting early.

"All right, Hamilton." Knox turned to Hamilton, still smiling pleasantly. "Teach us everything we need to know for this meeting."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton glanced at John again.

His eyes were pleading.

John looked away as Hamilton continued with his answer.

* * *

"Gentlemen, I apologize for the secrecy of this meeting, but after many instances of espionage within my ranks, I fear that I may never be careful enough to avoid unfaithful and treacherous men." Washington began the meeting with a pointed look in Lee's direction.

John struggled to bite back a smirk. Lafayette was not so careful. He stood by Washington's side, his eyes narrowed and his mouth upturned into a wry smile as he, too, looked at Lee.

"Now, we have forecasted a battle with the British at Monmouth. The area has been scouted extensively over the year and will be suitable for our purposes." Washington rolled out a beautifully drawn map. There were notes peppering the drawing. John recognized Hamilton's handwriting.

"General Knox, I would like you and your men to hold and defend the artillery in your current location. It is close enough that we may fall back upon it if we need it, while being far enough away that you may retreat to avoid our weapons falling into British hands." Washington began with Knox.

He did not look at Knox as he spoke. Instead, he placed a large pebble upon the location which was to indicate Knox's location. Knox nodded.

"I've seen your requested munitions. To grant your request would be to deny the request of your other generals." Knox contributed. "Do you still wish for me to comply with your request?"

Washington paused, considering this. John assumed that he would choose to give himself all of the munitions and give the rest of the commanders less. John further assumed that he would be given the least of the munitions, of all of the commanders involved.

"Who would suffer shortfalls if I were to insist on my requested amount?" He asked.

"Nearly everyone...most of all, General Greene." Knox nodded across the table to where General Greene sat.

Greene blinked. He looked mortified at the thought of rivaling Washington for anything, even if it was only a few hundred bullets.

Washington nodded resolutely.

"Give General Greene his requested munitions. He will hold a strategic position that we cannot afford to lose. As for the rest of my commanders - reduce what remains of my request by one sixth and divide the amount between my commanders. That should be sufficient." Washington decided.

"Yes, sir." Knox seemed satisfied with Washington's solution.

Greene let out a sigh that was too loud to be proper. Everyone had the good graces to pretend that they had not heard it. John would tell Hamilton about the sigh once he was through with acting angry. Hamilton was always laughing at Greene's heightened fear of losing Washington's affection. He likened Greene to the homely widower attempting to court the prettiest debutante of the season.

"Colonel Laurens." Washington's attention fell on John. "Though I am aware of your preference for South Carolina, it is my sincere wish that you remain with my forces through this battle."

"Yes, sir. It is my desire to be employed wherever I am most useful to the cause." John replied in the mechanical voice he used when addressing his superiors. He knew better than to tell Washington what he really thought - positive or negative.

"Very good." Washington's eyes lingered on John's face for just a moment longer than what was necessary.

John knew that he was sizing him up; trying to discern whether John was happy about the prospect of spending a prolonged period of time with Hamilton. John hoped that his facial expression did not betray any sort of emotion.

Washington moved on to telling Greene about his command. John stopped listening, for fear of laughing at Greene's breathless joy over receiving attention from Washington. Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of excitement coursing through him.

He would get to remain with Hamilton for months. This would not be a one-night, torrid memory, as Hamilton's wedding night had been. This would be the way that it had been when their relationship began. They could spend endless nights together, talking about things that were of no consequence, and laughing at jokes that they would not remember by the time the sun rose. Hamilton could be his again, and John could be Hamilton's.

The meeting lasted over four hours. The outcome could be summarized in ten minutes. The battle at Monmouth would not take place until summer arrived. There could be no risk of unusually cold spring weather, or rain. This timing meant that John would remain at camp for at least three months - possibly longer.

John would assist Lafayette in training men in preparation for the battles. Von Steuben had trained a few of Washington's troops, and it seemed that he had written a manual on the way that all men ought to be trained. Washington wished for John and Lafayette to use the manual to train recent recruits. He wanted everything to be perfect for the battle.

Once the meeting was over, John realized that he had the rest of the day to do as he pleased. He would have to make himself scarce, of course - if Washington observed him being idle, he would ask John to assist other aides in making copies of all of his wartime correspondence for "posterity" - but this freedom permitted him a moment with Hamilton.

The attendants of the meeting lingered in Washington's quarters even after Washington had dismissed them. Greene was hovering at the edge of the room, practically panting for the opportunity to speak privately with Washington. Knox was suggesting to Lafayette that they visit a local tavern that evening. Lee was attempting to ingratiate himself to Washington by asking him about his foxhounds. John was waiting for all of them to leave so that he could flaunt his anger in front of Hamilton, hoping for a heartfelt apology and an overdramatic profession of love.

"Colonel Laurens, would you care to join us?" Knox asked John as he and Lafayette threw on their jackets.

"I beg your pardon?" John asked distractedly.

"Would you care to go out with us for supper?" Knox repeated. He grinned. "There is not much to eat around town, and I daresay we will not get anything better unless we pay for it. Come, we will purchase some salted meat and flour while we are in town so our men will enjoy similar evenings."

"Oh…" John hesitated.

He did not want to spend the evening drinking and pretending to laugh with Knox and Lafayette. He wanted to spend the evening with Hamilton. He wanted to tell Hamilton everything that had happened to him since they had parted. He wanted Hamilton to tell him everything, too.

"He will come with us." Lafayette placed a heavy hand on John's shoulder. He beamed with delight.

John's heart sank as they opened the door to Washington's office and propelled John out into the main workspace, where Hamilton and Burr were busy at work.

"Hamilton! We are visiting the most disreputable tavern in the area. You must join us - I am certain there is no one who would better know where to find such a place!" Knox stopped at Hamilton's desk.

"General Knox, please do not take all of my aides out drinking before the workday is over." Washington called from his office.

Washington abhorred drinking. He tolerated wine and, on occasion, ale, but disapproved of anything stronger. While he permitted foot soldiers to drink small amounts of liquor on celebratory occasions, he demanded that his officers be role models on the matter.

"I would not dare, my dear general. I will only take a select few - your best ones!" Knox laughed.

Washington grumbled something in his office. No one could make out the particular words.

"Colonel Laurens is attending this outing?" Hamilton looked at John.

He was grinning, but John could see a question in his eyes. He wanted to know if John would begrudge him his company. John looked away from Hamilton. He focused instead on Lafayette. He smiled to himself. He was enjoying watching Hamilton squirm.

"We have forced him into it." Lafayette proclaimed, looking back at John triumphantly.

"I should like to go, if Colonel Laurens is going." Hamilton professed freely in front of the whole room full of people. "It is so rare that he partakes in such entertainment."

"Then we had better rush you out of camp before General Washington hears that you are coming along with us." Knox gestured for Hamilton to get up out of his seat. Hamilton obliged this request, shrugging on his jacket quickly and without his usual grace.

The small group of men hurried out of Washington's quarters before Washington could object.

None of them thought to invite Burr, who was left sitting alone in the workspace.

**Alexander Hamilton**

John was polite but aloof at the tavern. Alexander wanted to pull him aside and make him forget about his petty jealousies and insecurities over Washington, but it was impossible when General Knox and Lafayette were jockeying for all of the attention at the table.

"I thought that General Greene would burst into tears when Washington granted him the additional munitions." Knox jeered, looking around the table in the hopes that his companions would laugh at his joke.

Everyone complied. Lafayette let out a genuine burst of laughter. John laughed politely. Alexander smiled, but could not commit himself to a full laugh. He was distracted by the charcoal smudge on John's cheek. He did not know when the smudge had gotten there. He wondered how the smudge had come to exist on John's cheek. He wondered if it had been placed there by John's hand. There was no charcoal on John's hands. He then wondered if it had been placed there by another's hand.

"Oh, now, you cannot laugh too hard, General Lafayette!" Knox clapped his hand on Lafayette's back good-naturedly. "For you are just as affected by General Washington's presence as poor General Greene!"

Lafayette blushed, but laughed along with Greene. Everyone at the table was aware that Lafayette loved Washington the best out of everyone at the table. He worshipped Washington like a religion. Alexander had often wondered if Lafayette would have enjoyed the sort of relationship that he currently maintained with Washington. He once brought up the subject with Washington. Washington had ridiculed the idea that Lafayette's affection could be anything other than a platonic feeling resembling a father-son affection.

Alexander wished that Lafayette loved Washington romantically. He wished that Lafayette could take his place so that he never had to bear witness to John's jealousy again.

"Who among us has never been enamored with dear General Washington?" John suddenly spoke up, looking around the table before settling his gaze on Alexander. "A toast, to the most noble gentleman in America."

"To General Washington!" Knox roared, holding up his mug of ale.

"To General Washington!" Lafayette and Alexander echoed. Lafayette's voice was shrill and overeager, like a hunting dog's excited yelp. Alexander's voice was lackluster. He did not take his eyes off of John.

Each man drank his drink in silence. Knox gulped down the rest of his ale in a single pull. Lafayette nursed his wine, having learned his lesson from Mr. Morris' ball. John took slow, deliberate sips of his ale. He obviously did not like it, but was trying to pretend that he did to avoid hurting Knox's feelings. Alexander might have smiled, if he weren't so frustrated with John's unwillingness to speak to him.

"Well gentlemen, I suppose I must take leave of you." Knox sighed. "For I am a much older man than you, and I will receive a much more severe punishment if I am suspected of drunkenness by General Washington."

Knox tossed a few coins onto the table. It was more than the entire bill was like to be. All three of the men voiced their protests halfheartedly. Knox waved off the protests as he put on his jacket.

Lafayette rose from his seat. John did, too. Alexander remained where he was, watching John through narrow eyes. He hoped that this might be his opportunity to speak with John alone. He knew that if he could only get John alone for a moment or two, he could resolve the injury which had vexed John so.

"Do not feel obligated to depart with me, friends." Knox told them. "Stay. Enjoy your evenings. Enjoy them before you become an old man with many obligations, like me. Goodbye, my dear friends."

John sat down again. Lafayette did not.

"I will accompany you, General Knox." Lafayette insisted. "Not out of a sense of duty, but out of a fear of what injuries might befall me in ze absence of your judicious nature."

Knox barked out a laugh. "Sir, if I am to be your moral compass, I fear you are doomed."

"I will accompany you nonetheless, general." Lafayette grinned.

"I will remain here." Alexander said, turning to look at John. He ventured a slight, confident smile. "If Colonel Laurens will keep me company while I drink."

John nodded slightly and raised his mug in Alexander's direction, silently assenting. Alexander's smile widened.

Knox and Lafayette disappeared from sight, their laughter still ringing in Alexander's ears. In their absence, he turned to look at John. John was staring down at his mug, pouting. No other man was capable of pouting the way that John Laurens was. Alexander could not help but smile at the sight of him.

"John," He said, trying very hard not to laugh at how utterly pitiful John appeared. "Are you still angry with me?"

John shrugged sulkily.

"John," Alexander tried again. "You must know that there is nothing between Washington and myself. I requested a command, nothing further. My sole wish is for some sort of status so that I might deserve you. I care not Washington beyond attaining my objective."

John let out an exasperated sigh. "You do not need a command to deserve me. You need only to place me above others, as I have done for you."

Alexander was pleased that he had gotten John to speak to him. He hid his pleasure, however, so that John would not suspect him of believing that he had gotten away with his bad behavior.

"I have held you above all others since I first met you." He protested, instead. "I am aware that my actions often contradict this assertion, but you must believe me. There is no one above you."

A small smile appeared on, then disappeared from, John's face so quickly that Alexander nearly missed it.

"You hated me when we first met." He remarked.

Alexander squirmed in his seat. He smiled, too.

"Perhaps there is some truth in that." He admitted, still smiling. "But I did believe that you were the handsomest man I had ever seen."

John rolled his eyes. His cheeks reddened from embarrassment, but his smile gave him away. He was pleased with Alexander's statement. He liked to be called handsome. Everyone did.

"Please do not be angry with me." Alexander seized on the opportunity to beg forgiveness.

"I'm not...I was never angry with you." John said. He sighed, shook his head, and smiled. "I was only punishing you for visiting Washington on my first night at camp."

Alexander laughed. He could not help it.

"You mean to tell me that you made me sleep on the floor to punish me, though you were not angry?" He demanded, still laughing.

John laughed, too.

"I fear if I let you get away with too much without repercussions, you will take advantage of me freely and carelessly." He replied.

"You must always fear that I will take advantage of you." Alexander's voice sank into a flirtatious tone that he knew always worked against John. "But rest assured, such an act will never be done carelessly."

John cleared his throat. His blush was now spreading to his neck, his ears, and perhaps even his torso beneath his cravat and shirt. Alexander was eager to find out.

"I believe I am worn from the exertion of today's responsibilities." John remarked, his words ruined by the shakiness of his voice. "I think that I will return to camp and go straight to my quarters."

"Is that so?" Alexander asked amusedly.

"Yes." John rose from his chair and shrugged on his jacket. He glanced in Alexander's direction, smiling as he blushed. "And I wish that you would come with me."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

**John Laurens**

"Are you afraid?" Hamilton asked, running each of John's fingers through his hand in turn, as though he was examining them for defects.

It was the morning of the battle. John would have to report to Washington's quarters in an hour, just before the sun rose. Already, it was shaping up to be a warm day. Warm, humid air clung to John's skin like a burdensome lover. Cicadas called to one another in the woods surrounding the camp.

"Yes." John admitted. "I am afraid."

Hamilton nodded, digesting this bit of information.

"I wish that I could take to the field with you." He said at last. This was not a new sentiment for him to express. He had been moping around camp as the battle drew nearer. Whenever the battle was mentioned at meals, he would withdraw to his quarters immediately.

"Hmm. I am glad that you will be safe by General Washington's side." John professed. "It will be one less thing for me to worry about during the battle."

Hamilton smiled at John ironically.

"I daresay my proximity to Washington will not make me safer. The man seems to invite bullets. He once said during the French Indian war that he never heard a sound so charming as the whistle of a bullet." He replied with a chuckle. "Perhaps he will lead us into the thick of the fighting for the joy of it."

John groaned, throwing his right arm over his arms. He was smiling, but it was not a response to Hamilton's statement. He found that he smiled most of the time, now that he was reunited with Hamilton. He had forgotten how happy he was capable of being.

"I am going to have to shackle you to your desk myself, aren't I?" He wondered.

"You wouldn't dare." Hamilton responded. He removed John's arm from his face and planted a kiss to his lips.

"No, I wouldn't." John admitted, lifting his head a bit to encourage Hamilton to kiss him again. Hamilton obliged. "But I do wish that I could keep you in a padded box until the war is over, to keep you safe. I don't know what I would do if…"

He swallowed hard. He had tried to avoid thinking about the idea of Hamilton getting injured, or worse, in battle. He tried to avoid thinking about the night that he and Washington had believed Hamilton to be dead; the lifeless way that he, himself, had felt. He did not know that he could survive Hamilton's death.

"John." Hamilton fixed him with a warm smile. "All will be well. No harm will befall me; not today, and not as long as this damned war lasts. I will preserve myself for you."

John nodded. He tried to smile, but he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He could not put into words the way he feared losing Hamilton. He might have been capable of bearing the burden, had he never returned to camp. Since he had returned, he had been given the opportunity to enjoy a life with Hamilton that he wished to keep. He had been given the opportunity to dream about a life with Hamilton after the war.

"Let us talk no more of it." Hamilton advised. He propped himself up on his elbows, his hair spilling over his face and into his eyes. "Let us talk about what we might do once the war has ended."

John smiled. He had learned to like the way that Hamilton discussed their post-war life. He liked the presumption that they would both survive the war. He liked that Hamilton believed they would love each other for the rest of their lives. He hoped that Hamilton was correct.

"What shall we do?" John asked.

He wished that Hamilton would write him an entire book which told the story of their post-war lives. He wished to read such a story continually until the war ended. He wished to be swept up in such a fantasy.

"I was thinking…" Hamilton started with a bit of an apprehension.

"You are always thinking." John interrupted playfully. He rolled into Hamilton, burying his face in Hamilton's warm neck. There was a freckle just below the line where his neck met his chin. He kissed the freckle, loving it all the more for being a part of Hamilton.

Hamilton chuckled, turning his head a bit to look at John. His apprehension had evaporated.

"I hoped that you might consider moving to New York." He continued, still smiling. "We could purchase estates beside one another. Perhaps we could start a law firm of our own. In the evenings, we could stroll through the gardens together. I know how much you enjoy gardens."

"I do enjoy gardens." John hummed. He considered Hamilton's suggestion for a moment. "What type of law would we practice?"

Hamilton grinned, then turned his head to look at the ceiling.

"Murders." He replied. "Conspiracies. We would be famous for the remarkable cases we litigated."

"I was rather thinking divorces and debtors." John said.

He should have known that he would think too small for Hamilton's imagination. The universe itself was less expansive than Hamilton's mind.

Hamilton laughed. "Would that not be an irony? I can picture us now, handling unhappy marriages and accusing others of adultery and unfairness towards their wives. No one would suspect a thing."

His words might have bothered John, if he had not said them in a tone that was so utterly Hamilton that it only made John laugh.

"I don't care what sort of law we practice." John professed, still laughing. "I don't care for law, anyway. I will live only for the moments in which we are alone and unburdened by others."

"Those moments will be more common than not." Hamilton promised him. "For we will share an office, and we need only cross our yard to visit one another. We could train a dog to carry messages to one another in its collar."

Only Hamilton would consider something so absurd as a dog as their courier.

"And if the dog was intercepted by one of our wives?" John could not resist asking.

"Then we shall blame the children and wonder at our wives believing that we would do something so foolish as train a dog to be our courier." Hamilton replied, as though it were a perfectly obvious answer.

John shook his head, laughing.

"Will you do it? Do you believe you can convince your wife to move to New York?" Hamilton pressed, his voice dropping into a more serious register.

"Yes." John would have done anything for Hamilton. "I will make known my intentions to move to New York once the war has ended."

Hamilton beamed. He turned his head enough to kiss John. It was a forceful kiss, but undeniably one of happiness. Hamilton was pleased that he had gotten his way. He never seemed to tire of getting his way, no matter how often John yielded.

After a moment, John pressed his hand to Hamilton's shoulder, pushing him away.

"I should prepare to meet with General Washington and the others." He said regretfully.

"As should I." Hamilton conceded with a sigh.

He hoisted himself up first. Both of them knew that John would not move until Hamilton did. Hamilton cared more about his job and its duties than John did. Hamilton cared more about the importance of punctuality than John did. John would have traded all the time in the world for five more minutes in Hamilton's arms.

As Hamilton began to dress himself for the occasion of a battle, John climbed out of bed. He watched Hamilton dress as he haphazardly reached for his breeches. Hamilton glanced over his shoulder and noticed John's distraction. He had the nerve to grin.

"What are the odds, do you think, of General Lee being captured again?" He wondered.

Lee had been captured by the British earlier in the war. They had kept him in captivity for some time before his release could be brokered. They had caught him outside of a whorehouse at the time of the capture.

John rolled his eyes.

"I do not believe we will be so lucky." He said.

"No," Hamilton agreed with a sigh. "Me, neither."

John was ready first. He spent less time on his appearance than Hamilton did. Hamilton was always the best dressed person at camp, with the only other possible contender being Washington. John did not understand how Hamilton managed to care for his appearance so deeply with so many other problems presenting themselves.

"I should go." He said, glancing in the direction of the doorknob.

Hamilton looked away from the mirror. He had been pulling his hair into a careful ponytail.

"You look good." He approved.

John smiled, unable to deny the pleasure he received from such a compliment.

"I am certain that you will look better." He responded. It was not flattery, but the truth. Hamilton always looked better than he did. John found that he did not mind. He did not spend any time looking at himself, but spent a large amount of his time looking at Hamilton.

Hamilton chuckled, then returned his attention to the mirror. He would not deny John's words. He was too vain to refuse a compliment.

"Good luck today." He said as John gripped the doorknob.

John paused. He had not realized that this would be his last opportunity to speak to Hamilton before the battle.

"You, too." He replied. His throat suddenly felt clogged. "I...I love you, Hamilton."

Hamilton smiled at John as though he had said something unexpected.

"I love you, too." He said without hesitation.

John gave himself a few more seconds to memorize Hamilton. He took in the amused smile which caused a single dimple to appear on his right cheek. He took in the sparkle in his beautiful eyes. He took in the way that his heart shuddered whenever Hamilton blinked, those long eyelashes brushing against his freckled cheeks.

Once he had satisfied himself, he forced himself to walk out of the door. He crossed the field towards Washington's office. He gulped down the humid morning air, reassuring himself that all would be well.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Washington paced in front of the horses. As he moved back and forth, he bit his thumbnail. It was the first time that he had demonstrated such anxiety so publicly.

Of course, Alexander had witnessed this anxiety privately. Washington was deeply troubled by almost all of the news from Congress, as well as the cumulative weight of all of the lost battles so far. However, Lee had taken longer than anticipated to send a messenger to Washington. Washington was holding back the rest of his forces - John's forces included - until Lee sent the messenger alerting Washington to the opportune moment.

Alexander risked a glance in John's direction. John was quietly handsome, sitting atop his horse and watching Washington with a gravity that was out of character for him. Every so often, he would glance off in the direction of his forces, waiting for his command to join the fight. Alexander wondered if John was impatient to join the battle. Alexander was.

Suddenly, a lower ranking officer rode towards them. Half of his face was caked in blood. The source of the blood seemed to be his ear. Alexander looked over his shoulder to see if he would be joined by any other soldiers.

"Your Excellency!" The officer hastily slid off of his horse and bowed low in front of Washington.

Washington waved off this show of respect - though Alexander knew he would have been vexed if it had not occurred - then folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the officer's words.

"Your Excellency, General Lee has ordered a retreat!" The officer spluttered, his voice far too loud for propriety. He had likely been one of the artillery officers, standing close to the cannon. "It is one of complete chaos. No man knows where to run, the enlisted men are throwing themselves before the officers, and General Lee is among the first in line to escape. There was nothing I could do to dissuade him from his course of action."

"What?" Washington's voice resembled the angry growl of an animal, instead of a human's voice.

"What would you like me to do, sir?" The officer asked uncomfortably.

Washington's face was turning red. He was close to unleashing the temper that he worked so hard at keeping under wraps. Alexander could see that well enough. He knew that Washington's temper would do nothing to improve the situation.

"You are certain of the disorderly retreat?" Washington struggled to ask, his teeth gritted.

"Yes, sir." The officer began to look around nervously.

"Your Excellency," Alexander was risking Washington's wrath by redirecting his attention. "Perhaps you ought to send some men to rally the men back to the field? If you act swiftly, all may not be lost."

Washington turned to look at Alexander. Alexander did not shrink back, as most men did. He had survived Washington's wrath a number of times. He could survive it again.

"Yes." Washington murmured, his voice settling back into a one of thoughtfulness. There was still underlying anger, but Alexander's interruption had reminded him to control that anger. "That is...you are right. Hamilton…"

Alexander perked up. It was possible that Washington would give him the command. Under pressure and with few men he trusted, Washington might prefer Alexander take the lead in rallying the retreating men. He knew that Alexander was brave. He knew that Alexander would follow his orders until the end. There could be no better man for the job.

"Yes, sir?" He said. His voice was breathless with excitement. He sounded just as bad as Greene. He was sure that Knox was snickering at him from beside John.

"Have General Lafayette take the lead. Accompany him and do what you can to turn the men - and General Lee - back to the battle field." Washington instructed.

Alexander's heart sank. Washington had given the command to Lafayette. Once again, Washington had the opportunity to play favorites and he had chosen Lafayette. Lafayette always reaped the rewards of Washington's favor.

"Yes, sir." He grumbled.

Lafayette trotted his horse forward, then glanced over his shoulder. He was waiting for Alexander to follow him. Alexander did so, trying very hard to hide his displeasure. He knew that it was not Lafayette's fault that he received favors so often.

Lafayette called his men forward, then nodded to Alexander. They moved forward, towards the battlefield that Washington had scouted for the battle's purpose.

As they drew out of sight from Washington and the other officers, Lafayette pulled his horse closer to Alexander's. Alexander turned to look at him, fully expecting to receive instructions. He tried hard not to resent Lafayette for his command.

"I will cover ze rear if you would ride ahead of my men." Lafayette said, surprising Alexander with his generous grant. "I believe you have ze better skills for telling _général_ Lee to fight ze battle."

Alexander nodded, scarcely believing his luck. To ride in front of the men would give Alexander the privilege of assessing the situation and issuing alternate commands if necessary. He would be the first to confront Lee about his disorderly retreat.

He rode to the front of the gaggle of men. He felt dangerously close to bursting with joy. This was his first taste of a command and he found that it suited him very well. He called out encouraging words to the men alongside of him. It seemed to him that the men seemed to step quicker after his words. He suspected that he would be a very good commander, were he given the chance.

At last, they reached the scene of utter chaos. Bloody men were fleeing from the better-dressed British forces. British soldiers were harassing the retreating men with bullets and cannons. In front of it all, Lee was whipping his horse, urging it to move faster. His face was one of fear and panic. It was repulsive to Alexander's concept of an ideal general.

"General Lee!" Alexander moved his horse in Lee's path, forcing the latter to stop. When Lee looked at him, still panic-stricken, Alexander straightened his posture.

"I will stay here with you, my dear General, and die with you!" He called, loud enough for the retreating men to hear. Alexander looked around him, at all of the men who would spare a glance in his direction. "Let us all die rather than retreat! We will die here on this spot!"

There were a few cheers from the men behind him. A few confused, retreating soldiers joined the ranks of the men headed towards the war. Lee blinked, looking around him in a panic.

As Alexander urged his horse onward, leading the men into a return to the battle, Lee had no choice but to be swept up in the crowd. There were some retreating men who Alexander could not turn around, but he led as many men as he could to make a stand against the British.

Once in the thick of the fighting, Alexander quickly became acutely aware of how warm the weather was. The sun seemed to beat down on Alexander as rifles were fired and cannons rolled around the field. Residual heat encased all of the soldiers on the field.

Despite the heat, Alexander fought to the best of his ability. He remained atop his horse, opting to utilize his bayonet over his rifle. There was scarcely room to point and fire a weapon without risking one's life.

"General Lee!" Washington's voice thundered out not long after Alexander had began fighting. It did not seem to Alexander that it had been very long, anyway.

Lee - who had remained close to Alexander since being forced back into the fight - glanced in Washington's direction and hesitated. Alexander guided his horse towards Washington, away from the fighting. He caught Lee's horse's reins in his hand and dragged Lee along.

"General Lee." Washington said again, his expression one of extreme displeasure.

"S-sir?" Lee looked at Washington with a head tilted forward in shame and eyes peering up. He looked like a naughty child who was expecting a severe rebuke. He would not be disappointed by these expectations.

"I desire to know, sir, what is the reason - whence arises this disorder and confusion?" Washington spluttered, anger causing his words to catch in his throat. His face was turning scarlet. He ignored the bullets which blew past them in the midst of the discussion.

Alexander longed to see Washington humble Lee, but he could not resist looking around the field for John. If Washington had descended upon the brawl, he must have sent John and the other commanders ahead of him. Much to Alexander's dismay, he could not find John among the soldiers.

He did see Burr, though. He could see Burr fighting furiously in the thick of the battle. Remarkably, Burr's usually rigid posture had slouched during the fighting. But Alexander had not brought Lee to Washington to watch Burr struggle through a battle. He returned his attention to the argument taking place.

"I believed it prudent...you told me this morning that, if I thought it necessary, I could order a retreat." Lee tried to justify himself.

"I told you that a retreat would only be palatable if it was the only course of action. Cowardice is no excuse for a retreat." Washington snarled.

"Excellency, it was not cowardice which prompted my order. We are outnumbered by a large margin, and my men were beginning to mutiny around me. You see now, how they run from confrontation. Was I meant to die alone on the battlefield?" Lee demanded.

"You will remain with General Lafayette across the field." Washington nodded to where Lafayette was stationed. Like Washington, Lafayette's position in the French court and noble status forced him to remain in a protected position throughout battles. The American militia could not run the risk of offending King Louis XVI with the death of a young nobleman.

Lee glowered at Alexander before nudging his horse's side, sending the beast trotting across the battlefield towards Lafayette. Washington turned to look at Alexander. His eyes roved over Alexander's whole body, sweeping for injuries or imperfections which had not existed when they had last spoken. Once he was satisfied with Alexander's health, he nodded toward Alexander. He then rode off towards the battle.

In riding towards the battle, Washington encountered several men who were retreating. Alexander could see Washington lashing at the men with his riding crop.

"Are these the men with which I am to defend America?" He shouted loud enough for all to hear.

Alexander reined in his horse, moving towards the battle again. With Washington present, he did not have to worry about making rallying speeches. He ignored the sweltering heat and charged into the thick of it again.

After too long, Alexander found himself fighting alongside of Burr. Burr looked as though the heat was getting to him, too. He swayed on his saddle as he fought off the British soldiers coming towards him in waves.

Alexander loosened his cravat in a moment of reprieve. He tried to ignore the heat of his bayonet in hand, the heat radiating off of his horse, and the sun beating down on his back. Men around him buckled under the heat, either fainting or perishing in large groups. Alexander did not allow their fate to unnerve him. He had greater willpower than they did. He would not let something so minor as a little extra warmth keep him from achieving glory.

Burr's horse bumped into Alexander's horse, just as the tide was turning in favor of the British. Alexander spared Burr an angry glare, wishing that he would put some distance between them.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed by the sound of a horse screaming. While there had been such screams all morning, this scream was louder. This scream was Alexander's horse. Before Alexander could think to save himself, his horse toppled over onto him. It had been shot.

Alexander struggled to scramble out from under the horse, hoping that no British weapons would find him while he was down. The struggle did nothing to improve the fatigue that the heat was causing. Hot blood soaked into Alexander's clothes.

"Hamilton!" Distantly, Alexander heard Burr's voice.

He looked around. He did not know if Burr was attempting to draw his attention to him, or if he was attempting to warn him against British attack. When he looked in Burr's direction, he saw that Burr was offering him a hand. Burr looked decidedly pale and was covered in sweat, but Alexander recognized that his chances of survival without Burr's help were smaller.

Alexander grabbed Burr's hand and pulled, hoping that Burr was strong enough to pull him out from under the horse. It was stifling being trapped beneath the massive beast.

Burr managed to drag Alexander out from under the horse, but his grip became unsteady as he attempted to help Alexander onto his own horse. Burr was panting with his mouth wide open, like a dog after a hunt. Alexander decided that, once he was atop Burr's horse, he would drop Burr off at the medic's tent before continuing with his fight.

He looked around, hoping that in the midst of his own personal turmoil, the militia had gotten the better of the British forces. It did not appear that way. Just as he was about to focus on climbing onto Burr's horse, he spotted John. Poor John looked terrified. He did not seem to enjoy the excitement of battles the way that Alexander did.

John looked in his direction. His eyes, which were widened with terror, softened somewhat. He looked like he wished to say something. Alexander wished to hear whatever John would tell him.

Alexander's attention was ripped from John when he felt Burr's grip slacken. He turned to see why Burr had ceased in his efforts to recover Alexander. Alexander hoped that Burr had not been stabbed while he was distracted. He suspected that Washington would use such a stabbing as a reason against giving Alexander a command in the future.

The moment that Alexander turned to look at Burr, Burr fell off of his horse and atop Alexander. His weight, combined with the momentum of the fall, caused a searing pain to shoot through his arm.

"Alex!" Alexander faintly heard John call his name as his vision went black.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

**John Laurens**

John had been the first to rush to Hamilton and Burr following Burr's collapse. He had enlisted one or two of his men - as many could be spared in the midst of a battle - to assist him in recovering the men. Both Hamilton and Burr felt like rag dolls. John removed Hamilton's cravat - something which would have mortified Hamilton, had he been conscious - and pressed his fingers into the soft flesh of his neck, looking desperately for his pulse.

There was a pulse. John let out a sigh of relief, then hurried to get Hamilton on his horse. He left the other men in charge of getting Burr to the medic's tent. John did not care nearly as much about Burr's safety as he cared about Hamilton's.

"Stay with me, Alex." He murmured, quiet enough that the surrounding men would not hear.

He set to work lifting Hamilton's limp body onto his horse. Hamilton was heavier than John had expected him to be. A few of John's men moved towards them, offering their assistance where John would accept it. Ordinarily, John would shy away from allowing anyone to touch Hamilton, especially when he was injured. However, John was acutely aware that they remained in the middle of a battlefield, where bullets and cannonballs were zipping by every few minutes. Getting Hamilton to safety was his priority.

Between John and his men, they were able to lift Hamilton onto the horse. They laid him out vertically across the horse. His beautiful head, now covered in blood, was drooped over the left shoulder of John's horse. His legs dangled against the right shoulder of John's horse pathetically.

John did not dwell upon Hamilton's appearance. He climbed onto the horse, set back in his saddle to afford Hamilton room in front of him. He urged his horse forward, setting the pace at a speed that would allow them to reach the medic's tent quickly, without creating any additional danger to Hamilton. He could not risk Hamilton's death. He had only recently acclimated to the feeling of having a future with Hamilton beyond the war.

As John rode toward the medic's tent, he noticed Washington watching him. Washington's eyes were set on Hamilton's lifeless figure. Washington's face was pale. It appeared that, from viewing Hamilton's limp and bloodied body, he believed that Hamilton had perished in the battle. John did not have the time or inclination to correct Washington's mistake.

He reached the medic's tent after about ten minutes of riding. The tent was fully occupied by soldiers, both wounded and deceased. The physician turned to look at John as he approached. His expression was frazzled. John did not know if he could afford another addition to his tent. Still, he dismounted his horse and led it closer to the tent. He would move a wounded man out of his bed to give it to Hamilton, if he had to.

"Is this man an officer?" The physician inquired.

According to American ideals, the availability of a physician would not be contingent on Hamilton's status of an officer. Instead, the physician would treat patients equally, on a "first come, first serve" basis. However, the men who fought for America's ideals only believed in them insofar as they were convenient and did not strip those in power of their privilege. John felt the full weight of this hypocrisy as he transferred Hamilton's limp body from the back of his horse to a bed.

"Yes." He told the physician. "He is one of General Washington's most valued aides."

The physician nodded, his expression grave.

"I will do all that I can to save him." He told John.

John nodded. He waited for a moment, not wishing to part from Hamilton's side. He wished to remain beside him until he opened his eyes once more.

He noticed Burr lying in a nearby bed. The men must have transported Burr faster than John was able to transport Hamilton, likely because the men did not care for Burr the way that John cared for Hamilton. Burr was still unconscious and was being ignored. John could not allow the physician to ignore Hamilton the way that he was ignoring Burr.

"Colonel, please." The physician did not agree with John's decision to remain by Hamilton's side. "General Washington's protocol requires that you return to the battle while I tend to this man's injuries."

John chafed at the physician's criticism, but understand the necessity of heeding his words. He could not risk a reprimand from Washington over a matter concerning Hamilton. Suspicions were high enough as it was. John was not willing to risk Hamilton's reputation for his own peace of mind. Hamilton would have never forgiven him for something so ruinous to his career.

With great reluctance, John returned to his horse. He mounted the beast and urged it to return to the battlefield. He was no longer afraid to perish on the field, as he had been at every battle before. If Hamilton was destined to die on the physician's table, John wished to die not long after him.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Alexander awoke with a start. He could not remember where he was, or what had transpired prior to his falling asleep. His head ached terribly. He gagged on the overwhelming stink of rotting flesh, dried blood, and vomit. His vision was fuzzy. His limbs felt heavy - far too heavy to move him away from where he was currently laying.

"Colonel Hamilton?" A voice that Alexander did not recognize stung his ears.

"Mm?" He winced, hoping that whomever was addressing him would speak quietly in their response.

Instead of words, there was a sigh of relief. The voice, a decidedly male voice, then addressed others. It sounded as though he was giving commands. Alexander wondered if he had been captured by the British. He wondered if he had the energy to care, if he had. He certainly did not have the energy to escape.

"Colonel Hamilton, please drink some water." Another male voice suggested. Like the last one, this voice was too loud for Alexander's taste. His head throbbed at the sound.

Alexander cracked an eye open. He was in a tent, of sorts. It was a shoddy tent. The shoddy nature of the tent reassured Alexander that he was not in the hands of the British. Only the American militia could boast such unprofessional supplies. He was lying on a makeshift bed - a cot which laid upon the dry summer grass. Above him stood a man wearing a blood-soaked smock. The man was holding a tin cup which, presumably, was full of water.

Alexander struggled to lift his arm enough to accept the cup of water. The movement caused excruciating pain to ripple down his arm and throughout his body. He gritted his teeth and accepted the cup without a word of complaint. He was stronger than whatever injury had been inflicted upon him.

"Very good, Colonel Hamilton." The man - presumably, a physician's assistant - approved.

"Atta boy, Hammie." Burr's voice contributed.

Alexander sat up - the motion causing him enough pain to momentarily deprive him of his vision - and looked around for Burr. He had believed himself to be alone in the care of the physician.

Burr was lying three cots away from him. He was propped up against a saddlebag. He looked rather worse for the wear. His skin was sallow, his posture was lazy, and his smile did not have its usual bite. The sight of Burr seemed to have given Alexander's memory a jumpstart. He remembered the chain of events which led to his presence in the medic's tent.

"Burr," Alexander frowned. "I trust that you are not going to attempt to stand only to fall upon me for a second time?"

Burr did not seem offended by Alexander's remark. He rolled his eyes, still smiling faintly.

"I saved your life at a great risk to my own." He asserted.

"An interesting perspective on the matter, to be sure." Alexander's voice was raspy. He attempted to sit up to match Burr's stance, but did not have a saddle bag to prop himself against. He fell back upon his elbows lamely. He tried not to let the failure impact his conversation with Burr. "Unfortunately, I fail to see how it is that you saved my life by rendering me unconscious in the middle of an active battlefield."

"I pulled you from under your dead horse, Hamilton. If not for me, you would have had hundreds of bayonet holes converting you into a human rendition of swiss cheese." Burr responded, still smiling.

Alexander knew that Burr had been helpful in extracting him from the dangerous situation. Still, he could not concede that he had needed Burr's help getting out from under the thousand pound animal. To do so would risk admitting that he did not have the situation under control. He needed to convince Washington that he did not need assistance on the battlefield in order to achieve a command. He could not have Burr ruining such an important achievement. He had come so close; leading Lafayette's men was his moment to shine as a commander.

"I was perfectly capable of extricating myself from the predicament, thank you." Alexander said in a matter-of-fact manner. "I accepted your assistance purely because I believed that it would be more efficient than crawling out, myself. Had I known the acceptance would render me an invalid for the remainder of the battle, I would not have accepted it for all the gold in Spain."

Burr nodded, smiling to himself in quiet amusement.

Alexander flopped back down onto his cot, leaving Burr to bask in his self-importance. He did not have the strength to argue with Burr for much longer. His arms had been trembling from the exertion of holding himself up throughout their argument.

Once settled back onto his cot, Alexander dozed off without meaning to. He only awoke when his body was jostled very much without his consent. His eyes snapped open. His mind, still foggy from pain, reeled through his memories leading up to him lying on the cot in the medic's tent.

Washington was standing a few feet away from his cot. He was red-faced as he talked to the physician in a hushed, clipped tone. Alexander shifted on his cot, straining his ears to pick up what it was that Washington was saying. He wondered if he was asking if Alexander was still capable of fighting. Alexander would show the physician how capable he was, should the physician dare to tell Washington that he was not.

"There," Alexander heard John's voice. He looked around. "Look, his eyes are opened."

Washington turned to look at Alexander. The movement revealed John, who had been standing behind Washington. Alexander ignored Washington, who was watching Alexander with a cautious, still red-faced, expression. Instead, he looked to John. John was covered in blood. Alexander wondered if the blood was horse blood, as the blood caking his own body was. He could not imagine John shedding any other type of blood. John smiled, the white of his teeth standing out against the darkened dried blood on his face. Alexander ventured a small smile in returned.

"Hamilton." Washington interrupted the happy reunion. He brushed John aside on his way to Alexander's cot. He pulled a chair up beside the cot, perching upon it and looking down at Alexander critically. Alexander could not help but fidget somewhat under his intense gaze.

"Your Excellency," Alexander forced himself to smile at Washington. He was close to achieving a command. He could not risk igniting Washington's temper at such an important moment. "I beg you forgive me for not bowing in your presence. Were my limbs within my command, I would be happy to oblige you such a courtesy."

Washington smiled faintly. He did not allow himself to laugh in the presence of other soldiers, but Alexander could tell that he had earned such an affectionate display through his words. Washington appreciated his sense of humor above all of his other qualities - something which Alexander found remarkable. He had never considered himself particularly amusing before he had become acquainted with Washington.

"I will forgive you for your transgression." Washington assured him, still smiling. "Are you...well? The physician tells me that you suffered a tremendous bout of heat stroke in addition to minor injuries from...from…"

Washington turned to look at John. He had forgotten the exact nature of the physician's words.

"Some sort of blunt trauma." John supplied helpfully. He smiled at Alexander warmly. It was the kind of smile that made Alexander's heart ache in his chest. At times, the extent to which he loved John frightened him. He had never met another person who could make his heart ache with just a single smile.

"Likely from your horse being shot out from under you." John continued, unaware of the effect he had on Alexander.

Alexander nodded. He was careful to return his attention to Washington, knowing that Washington would begin to feel insecure if he dedicated too much of his attention to John. He had to stroke Washington's ego - among other things - if he was to reap any reward for his valor that day.

"I am well. Thank you, Your Excellency." He assured Washington with a warm smile. "I believe I am mostly recovered already."

He struggled to sit up to prove his point to Washington. He could not risk Washington coming to view him as an infirm. He had to portray himself as able-bodied. He ignored the pain that such a demonstration brought about. He could survive such pain, if it was necessary to cinch a command.

"Alex, you should not -" John began to protest. He immediately realized the error of speaking out and shut his mouth.

Alexander could not help but resent John for his words. He knew that he was supposed to appreciate John for caring about his well-being, but he could not have John hovering around him and Washington and making efforts to coddle him. He cast John a look of disapproval. John understood the rebuke and looked to his feet guiltily.

Washington looked over his shoulder at John. When he returned his gaze to Alexander, he looked pleased. Alexander was not surprised that Washington enjoyed watching Alexander reject any sentiments from John which might have a romantic context. Washington preferred to believe that he was first in Alexander's heart, and that John was merely someone Alexander passed time with when Washington was otherwise indisposed. Washington's vanity had forced him to go so far as to endorse the relationship, telling Alexander that he understood that the demands of his office forced him to devote less attention to Alexander than Alexander deserved. Now, however, he seemed to want undisputed loyalty.

"You should rest." Washington basked in the luxury of being the only one who could act as a nurse to Alexander. "The battle is over. Rebuild your strength for the next one."

"Did we win?" Alexander asked, ignoring the expression on John's face.

If he looked at John, he knew that all would be lost. He could lose everything if he allowed his love for John to blind him.

Washington's smile faded into something grim. Alexander had made a mistake in asking for the outcome of the battle. Washington did not like to be reminded of his precarious position as the commander-in-chief, not even by friends.

"It was a stalemate." Washington replied, looking around for anyone who might be listening in. "I would like you to draft the letter to Congress, once you are well enough. It is important that we are honest about the nature of the battle, while…"

"I understand." Alexander replied before Washington was forced to either admit he exaggerated his victories to Congress, or was forced to sit in uncomfortable silence while everyone listening was left to make their own inferences.

Washington nodded, satisfied with Alexander's answer.

"You should rest." He said after a moment. "You have been through a great ordeal. General Lafayette has told me you commanded the men and rallied General Lee's forces on his behalf. You have behaved honorably today. It has not gone unnoticed."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Alexander allowed himself to hope that Washington's words would turn into an offer of a command of his own once he was fully healed.

Washington smiled slightly, then rose to his feet. He moved to exit the tent. He turned to look at John expectantly. He clearly wished for John to exit as well, so that he and Alexander would not have time alone. Washington was just as prone to jealousy as John, though he expressed his jealousy in much different ways.

"If you do not need my services, Your Excellency, I would like to visit with Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Burr." John said. Alexander blinked, startled that John had dared to defy Washington's expectations. John had stood up to him plenty, but neither of the young men had dared cross Washington.

"Of course." Washington nodded in assent. His tone was distant, his expression was icy. "Good afternoon, Colonel Laurens."

John nodded deferentially. "Your Excellency."

Washington skulked out of the tent without further incident. Once he was out of the tent, John turned to focus on Alexander. He smiled brightly. Alexander had not expected him to smile. Alexander had expected John to pout and flaunt his jealousy over Alexander catering to Washington. Instead, John plopped down in the seat that Washington had vacated and folded his hands in his lap. He leaned closer to Alexander, examining him with a smile on his face.

"Are you really feeling well?" He asked in a knowing tone. "Or were you afraid of General Washington ruling you out as an injured party?"

Alexander smiled bashfully.

"It is...painful." He admitted with some reluctance. "But I believe that I will be well very soon. John, I apologize for...that is, I know that you are aware of the unique obligations which I must oblige, but I…"

John smiled at Alexander's poor attempt at an apology. His smile made Alexander smile, too.

"I know." He assured Alexander. "And I do not care about what you must say to General Washington, and what I must not say in front of him. I care only that you are here, alive and getting well with each passing minute. I believed that you would perish while I was in the battle."

"It does not look as though your performance suffered for your concern." Alexander remarked, looking pointedly at the blood still smeared all over John's face and clothes.

John's smile turned sheepish.

"I fear that you would be angry with me, if you saw how I performed." He said. "I believed that you were going to be dead by the time the battle was over and I...I did not wish to be separated from you for much longer. I did not wish to be accused of suicide, however, and so I took many risks that I did not believe I was prepared to handle. As it turns out, I am a much more adept soldier than I believed myself to be."

Alexander's eyes widened slightly. It alarmed him that John would resort to such drastic measures as wishing for death solely because he had believed that Alexander was dying. He did not like the idea of John charging through the battlefield in search of death, not even if it made John realize that he was a worthy soldier.

"John." He disapproved. "You cannot -"

"I know." John looked down, ashamed. He then looked up, meeting Alexander's eyes again. There was something behind those eyes that had not been there before. "But I will not promise you that, should you expire during the course of this war, I will not seek out a similar path. I have imagined a life without you, Hamilton. It was a life that was not worth living."

"This is not a life worth living." Burr grumbled from his cot three cots away from Alexander.

He had clearly overheard their conversation. John's face morphed into one of utter mortification. Alexander did not care as much as John appeared to. He knew that Burr would not say anything to anyone. Alexander knew Burr's dark secrets, and Burr knew his. Their friendship was founded upon the fact that both knew that if they released a disparaging fact about one, the other would have ten disparaging facts to release.

"Shut up, Burr." He mumbled. "For it is no one's fault but yours that we are here."

"I saved your life." Burr protested.

"You did not." Alexander assured him.

He rolled his eyes and looked back at John. He was only mildly surprised when he saw that John was smiling. It was the kind of smile that made his heart ache.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

**John Laurens**

Hamilton wrote Washington's letter to Congress from his bed. He used his folded legs as his writing desk, and set his inkpot beside him. Before the letter was finished, his bedsheets were stained with ink and his floor was littered with parchment that had broken under the sharp point of Hamilton's quill. Despite the imperfect circumstances surrounding the letter, Hamilton focused on its contents with his usual intensity. Particularly, he fixated on the amount of American casualties that the militia suffered during the battle.

"Did you see the field when we arrived?" He ranted for the umpteeth time. His anger was robbing him of sleep each night. "At least half of the casualties listed were already dead on the field by the time we arrived. Most of these men died in that damned disorganized retreat. It is a crime."

Hamilton's anger was directed at none other than Charles Lee. He blamed Lee, personally, for all of the deaths and injuries which had occurred during the battle, including his own. He grew angrier still when he heard Lee attempting to resist the blame cast upon him.

"General Washington is angry enough with him." John reminded him. It was his usual argument. "Let Washington's displeasure be Lee's punishment. You have seen how strict Washington is with his favorites. I cannot imagine what he might do to someone as hated as Lee."

"Whatever Washington decides, it will be too good for Lee." Hamilton sniffed. "For Lee is a man of wealth and title and therefore cannot be subject to physical punishment. It is a shame, for a coward should be forced to face the exact harm from which he ran."

"You mean that we should throw Lee to the British?" John tried to joke.

"We should have allowed them to keep him when they had him." Hamilton grumbled. "He could have become the king's fool."

"I do not believe he would succeed in such a profession." John mused. "Lee is foolish, sure, but he is not very amusing."

Hamilton let out a huff. He was much more irritable on bedrest than he typically was. John found that he was touching nerves that he had not known to exist, previously. He wished that Hamilton would recover soon, if not to avoid any further squabbles.

"I think that I would like to be alone." This was Hamilton's way of telling John that he was getting on Hamilton's nerves. It was his way of avoiding snapping at John. John did not appreciate this minor courtesy, as it stung just as much as an open rebuke.

"Very well." He said, his voice sounding petulant to his own ears. "Good afternoon, Colonel Hamilton."

Hamilton rolled his eyes at John's anger.

"Good afternoon, Colonel Laurens."

* * *

_Dearest husband,_

_I have heard the news of your most recent battle at Monmouth. Congress has responded to the news with confidence, both in General Washington and the magnificence of his forces. Letters to my father from friends all confirm that you were particularly valiant during the battle. To be linked to you at such a time is the highest honor and privilege._

_I presume by now that you have read General Charles Lee's scandalous reports on the conduct of General Washington. I, as well as most polite society, do not believe it for one moment. The country knows that there is no better patriot than General Washington._

_In happier news, your daughter is well. She charms everyone she meets with as much grace and beauty as a debutante. I should like for her to sit for a portrait. Both your mother and your father are much in agreement with me, as they are as equally bewitched by her as I am. I will forward you a portrait fit in a locket, should you like one._

_Your loving wife,_

_Martha Laurens_

John set the letter from Marty aside with the rest of the letters he had received from friends. Everyone was talking about the rumors told by Lee. Newspapers had begun to run entire columns dedicated to Lee's statements about Washington's fitness for his post, and the "true cause" of the crisis at Monmouth.

"What did it say?" Hamilton inquired, craning his neck to get a better look at the letter.

"Nothing of significance." John replied, moving to open another letter that he had received. This one was from a young man he had gone to school with. Undoubtedly, the young man was looking for a letter of introduction to Washington. John had received many similar requests since becoming one of Washington's aides.

"Hm." Hamilton murmured, dissatisfied with John's answer. "Eliza does not mention Lee's publications, either. I wonder if our wives are so afraid of displeasing us that they will act as though the news is not the news?"

It might have been a joke, but Hamilton's frown was so fierce that John did not dare laugh. Instead, he shrugged and focused on the letter.

"Here is another publication." Burr entered the quarters, holding up a newspaper with a grim expression. "Lee has really done it this time."

He plopped the paper down on Hamilton's desk. Hamilton set to work reading it, a scowl set across his handsome features. John glanced in the direction of Washington's office nervously. If Washington stepped out of his office to find another negative article about his leadership, there was no telling how his wrath would manifest itself.

Despite Washington's anger with Lee, Lee remained at camp. Washington stated that he would rather have his enemies under his nose than behind his back. John was not so sure he agreed. Each meal became a tense staring contest between Hamilton and Lee while Washington pretended not to notice.

"This is unacceptable." Hamilton growled, anger distorting his usually handsome features into something unpleasant. "This...this _lie_ is going to ruin my career - it may ruin General Washington's career. Someone ought to challenge Lee."

"Challenge?" John echoed in surprise. "Do you mean to suggest that someone challenge _General Lee_ to a _duel_?"

He was careful to emphasize Lee's rank to highlight the impracticability of Hamilton's suggestion. The idea of a colonel shooting a general was a ridiculous one. There was nothing to be gained for the colonel.

"Why not?" Hamilton did not seem to understand why challenging Lee was a wretched idea.

"You must be joking." Burr remarked, taking a seat behind his desk. His expression conveyed the same skepticism that John felt.

"Washington would want us to stand up for him." Hamilton argued.

Burr laughed. "I do not think that General Washington needs us to protect him from his bullies."

"He is gagged and bound - he cannot refute Lee's accusations without stooping to his level." Hamilton contended.

"So he can request a court martial to discern the truth." John suggested.

Hamilton snorted. The dismissive attitude hurt John's feelings. It was not the first time that Hamilton had made John feel stupid, and it likely would not be the last time.

"Washington oversees the court martial. Even if he did not - how would it appear? The court martial arrests the person asserting their innocence. Do you believe that Congress would tolerate the news that half of the militia had witnessed the commander-in-chief arrested by the court martial? They would have him replaced by General Gates within a week." Hamilton explained, his tone condescending.

"Then we ignore him. Half of the world believes that he is mad, anyway." Burr suggested.

"Only half." Hamilton murmured.

"Hamilton, I really think -"

Before John could think of something to say which would dissuade Hamilton from pursuing such a course of action, Charles Lee himself walked past the quarters. All three men could see him through the window. Hamilton perked up like a hunting dog who caught a whiff of a fox.

"Hamilton, _no_." John tried to protest, but it was already too late.

Hamilton leapt up from his seat and surged toward the door. John followed after him. Burr followed after John, though his purpose remained unknown to John.

"Lee!" Hamilton addressed Lee as an equal, not a general.

Lee turned around, displeasure on his face.

"Colonel Hamilton." He folded his arms across his chest. "To what do I owe the honor of your notice?"

Hamilton marched straight up to him, red-faced and angry.

"Lee, I -"

"I challenge you to a duel!" John called out before Hamilton could finish his sentence.

Hamilton whipped around to look at John, surprise taking the place of anger on his expression. Lee also looked confused by John's challenge.

"Really?" John heard Burr ask from behind him.

"That is right, I-I-I challenge you on behalf of General Washington." John continued, though he regretted each word that came out of his mouth. "Tomorrow at sunrise."

Lee took a moment to appraise John. When he was satisfied with what he found, he nodded slightly.

"Very well." He said. "Tomorrow at sunrise. Colonel Burr?"

"Yes, sir?" Burr stepped forward from behind John. John looked at him curiously. Burr shrugged and looked back at Lee. He did not seem to understand why he was being singled out any more than John did.

"I would appreciate your services as my second." Lee said.

It was a cunning move. Burr was notorious around camp for his accuracy when shooting. If Lee was unable to finish the duel and Burr was forced to take his place, John would certainly be the one to die.

"Yes, sir." Burr agreed. John could not fault him for agreeing.

Lee smirked, pleased with himself for claiming Burr first. He then turned to look at John.

"Who will be your second, Colonel Laurens?" He inquired.

John considered his options. He could not ask one of his men to serve as his second, as he had punished men in his own camp for dueling. To ask his men to participate in prohibited activity for his sake was hypocrisy at its finest. Lafayette would likely reject John's inquiry, as Washington was staunchly opposed to dueling and Lafayette could not - or would not - risk Washington's displeasure.

"I will." Hamilton spoke up before John could think of any other suitable party.

"Very well." Lee accepted Hamilton's inclusion with a smirk. "I will see you tomorrow at sunrise."

Lee wandered off, his dogs trailing after him.

Hamilton waited until Lee was out of sight before whipping around to look at John. He did not look happy with John. John had not expected that he would.

"What could have inspired you to do such a thing?" He inquired.

John frowned.

He could not tell Hamilton that he had volunteered himself to partake in the duel because he valued Hamilton's life over his own. He knew that Hamilton would demand that John rescind his challenge to Lee and allow Hamilton to make the challenge, instead. John could not allow such a thing. He could not allow Hamilton to risk his life so carelessly; not for someone so meaningless as Lee.

"Why should you get all of the glory?" He tried to joke. The joke fell flat.

"Thank you both for dragging me into this." Burr said dryly.

"I had to think of some way to pay you back for nearly killing me." Hamilton bit back. He had been blaming Burr for his injuries, as well as Lee. John knew that Hamilton meant such comments as a joke, but they did not come off that way. It sounded more like unkindness than playfulness.

Burr let out a sigh, then turned around and returned to Washington's quarters. John and Hamilton were left on their own.

"I know that you challenged Lee to protect me." Hamilton accused him the moment that they were alone.

John looked down. He knew better than to lie to Hamilton. Hamilton always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. The man could read him like a book, and no one read books quite like Hamilton.

"You have a family, John." Hamilton tried to reason with him. "You have a wife and a daughter who expect you to return to them after the war. You have a father who has planned your entire future, John. You -"

"Nothing will happen to me." John assured him firmly. "I will return to my wife and my daughter after the war, and I will tell my father that I have no interest in politics. I will tell him that instead, I am going to start a law practice with a man of no title and no status and we are going to take cases with murders and conspiracy and other glamorous crimes. We will have our future, Hamilton. I will not allow Charles Lee to take that away from us."

Hamilton cracked a small smile. "I thought that you wanted to do divorces."

John snorted, relieved that Hamilton was no longer angry with him.

"A couple of homosexuals defending the virtues and traditions of a union between a man and a woman?" He teased, remembering Hamilton's laughter at his suggestion just a few days before. "Wouldn't that be ironic?"

Hamilton's smile grew wider.

"I love you, John." He said.

John smiled back at him.

"I love you, too, Alex."

**Alexander Hamilton**

John was nervous.

Alexander could see from the way that he fidgeted, from the way that he jumped at the sound of Burr loading bullets into the pistols, and from the way that he kept casting Alexander forced smiles that were meant to be reassuring. Though Alexander wished for little more than he wished for Lee to get what he deserved, he did not like to see John unsettled with such fear. As they approached the field upon which the duel will take place, he resolved to negotiate with Burr fairly. If Lee only apologized for his conduct, Alexander would let him escape without a bullet lodged into his body.

Once they reached the dueling ground, Lee began to confer with Burr about his terms of settlement. The physician stood off to the side, feigning indifference. He had only agreed to attend the duel because Burr had bribed him with thirty dollars.

"Look, Alex," John turned to Alexander as their time to discuss terms of settlement dwindled. "I will not accept an apology which is not satisfactory to you. Negotiate fairly, but do not feel obligated to spare me."

Alexander nodded grimly. He wished that John had not used the words "spare me." He made himself appear more like a sacrificial lamb than a willing combatant. Alexander felt all the more obligated to accept any apology that Lee would give.

"Hammie?" Burr called as he walked to the center of the field. His breeches were speckled with the dew, which he kicked up with every step. Alexander cast John one last glance before joining Burr in the center of the field.

"Alexander." Burr greeted Alexander.

"Aaron Burr, sir." Alexander greeted him in return.

"This is a foolish duel." Burr remarked. "It is an immature way of confronting General Lee."

"I agree." Alexander replied, though he did not. "But General Lee must answer for his words against General Washington. He has suffered extensive injuries at General Lee's pen."

Burr shook his head. "Alexander, this is absurd."

"Absurd?" Alexander's temper flared. "Burr, how many men died because of Lee's cowardice?"

Burr let out a heavy sigh. "I see now that there is nothing I can say which will dissuade you from the current course of action. Good luck, Alexander."

He nodded towards Alexander, then moved back to Lee. Alexander returned to John. Guilt bloomed in his chest.

He did not need to tell John the outcome of his discussion with Burr. John took one look at him and sighed. He hung his head for a moment, accepting the reality of his situation. When he looked up again, his expression was resolute. His hand tightened around the pistol he'd been holding.

"All right." He said. "Thank you for trying."

"John," Alexander tried to protest. "It is not too late for me to stand in on your behalf. General Lee is a terrible shot, I believe that -"

"Alex." John shook his head, smiling faintly. "It has to be me."

Alexander nodded despite his disagreement with John's statement. He would not argue with John before he went up in front of a man with a gun. He would make his last few seconds before the duel amicable.

"I...I love you, Alex." John said quietly. He turned to look at Alexander with a frightened smile that made Alexander want to protect him from all of the world's harms.

"I love you too, John." Alexander replied, forcing himself to smile.

John nodded to himself, then turned to look at the field. Lee was already in position at the center of the field. John moved to join him there. Each step he took away from Alexander made Alexander's skin crawl. He had not felt fear a single time during the war - he had confidence in his abilities to keep himself alive - until this point. Now, he was terrified. He could not protect John. He was powerless. He could only watch as John shook Lee's hand and spoke a few words.

After John and Lee shook hands, they each turned around. They counted aloud as they took their steps. Alexander watched both of their hands. Lee's fingers were itching toward the trigger, eager to send a bullet hurling towards John. John's fingers remained curled tightly around the pistol. He did not move his fingers towards or away from the trigger.

They reached the number nine. Alexander could see Lee's heel turning against the damp grass. Alexander fought the urge to run onto the field and demand an end to the duel. He was afraid. He had not been so afraid since he had been a child.

"Ten."

Lee shouted the number with gusto. Alexander could not hear John pronounce the number at all. He knew that John had reached ten, though, as he watched John swivel in place with an unhurried grace.

It happened quickly. The sound of gunshots registered first. The smell of gunpowder and residual smoke burned Alexander's nose. Then there was a shout of pain. Finally, Lee crumpled to the ground. John remained standing. He was uninjured.

"General Lee, do you yield?" Alexander asked. He could not suppress the glee in his voice.

Burr hurried onto the field to examine Lee. The physician followed after him, looking as though he regretted accepting Burr's bribe to attend such an affair.

"You shot him in the side." Burr told John, his voice barbed with indignation. He then looked to Alexander. "_Yes_, he yields."

Alexander looked to John. John was looking back at him. He was not smiling, but Alexander could discern an unmistakable air of pride about him.

"I am satisfied if you are." John called to Alexander.

"I do not yield!" Lee howled, still lying on the ground.

"I beg your pardon?" Alexander could not hide his surprise.

"General Lee, you must yield." Burr tried to convince him. "You stand to lose a great deal of blood, as it is. You cannot risk further injury."

"I do not yield." Lee repeated, staggering to his feet.

John looked to Alexander uncertainly. Alexander looked back at him. It was highly improper to shoot a man who was incapacitated, but John risked getting shot if he ignored Lee's refusal to yield. It was an affair of honor. To force Lee to yield would be extremely dishonorable.

"What is the meaning of this?" Washington's voice broke through the morning quiet. He approached the scene, sitting atop his horse. Lafayette was by his side, looking mortified.

Alexander had not kept track of the time. Washington was out for his morning ride.

Washington assessed the situation quickly, his face contorted in an expression of overwhelming rage. Such rage would consume him if he did not unleash it quickly and liberally.

"Mr. Burr," Washington did not acknowledge Burr's officer status. It was a blatant insult. Burr swallowed it without protest. "Get the general to the medic's tent."

"Yes, sir." Burr appeared grateful for an excuse to leave the field. He and the physician threw Lee atop Lee's horse. Lee protested the handling, but neither Burr nor the physician responded to such protests. Burr and the physician then mounted their own horses. Burr held the reins of Lee's horse, leading him back to camp.

"General Lafayette, assure General Lee of my sincere apologies." Washington commanded Lafayette. "Colonel Laurens, you are to join him and apologize for your conduct."

"Yes, sir." John accepted his punishment with a hung head.

John mounted his own horse and followed Lafayette back to camp. Neither man spoke to one another.

"Hamilton." Washington finally turned his gaze to Alexander. He had reserved the majority of his anger for Alexander. Alexander was not surprised. Washington seemed to prefer treating him as an outlet for all of his emotions - positive or negative.

"Yes, sir?" Alexander asked with great reluctance.

"Meet me inside." He growled, tugging at his horse's reins. It carried him towards camp, leaving Alexander standing alone on the field.

* * *

"Alex," Washington growled once Alexander had closed the door to his office door.

"Don't call me Alex." Alexander warned him.

Washington had never called him 'Alex' before John's arrival at camp. Before that, he had either used 'Hamilton' or 'Alexander'. He used the shortened name only so that John would not be the only one. He used it so that he would have every part of Alexander that John did.

"This war is difficult enough without my men fighting among themselves." Washington ignored Alexander's rebuke.

"General Lee wrote disparaging remarks about you in the paper. We requested that he answer for such accusations." Alexander replied. He had expected Washington to be grateful for the defense. Lee's injuries guaranteed that he would not be so quick to write another word against Washington's leadership skills or the militia under his control.

"You solved nothing _and_ you managed to aggravate our allies through the south." Washington was not grateful.

"Perhaps they would have been more appreciative, had John shot him in the mouth." Alexander remarked sullenly.

"Alex." Washington tried again.

"I asked you not to call me that." Alexander murmured again.

"Watch your tone." Washington warned him. "I did not need you or Colonel Laurens to confront General Lee on my behalf. I am not a maiden in need of defending. I am capable of handling my affairs on my own."

"Charles Lee published another article today." Alexander gestured towards Washington's office door. The offending article was laying on the other side of the door, draped across Burr's desk. "He rakes your name through the mud with no consequence. I am not the only one who reads the papers - your friends, your colleagues...Congress - they are all reading, too."

"My name has been through a lot - I can handle it." Washington remarked.

"Well, _I_ don't have your name!" Alexander shouted. He was furious at Washington for being so selfish. Washington seemed incapable of understanding that things which did not affect him still affected Alexander. "And I don't have your title, and I don't have your land. But, if you would only give me a command -"

"No." Washington let out an exasperated sigh.

"I could have a name and title of my own. I could assist you in the war efforts - defend your name in the press without fear of impropriety. I could be a credit to your militia, I could win skirmishes and assist you in battles -"

"Or you could die, and we need you alive." Washington dismissed Alexander's suggestion so easily. He preferred to coddle Alexander instead of allowing him experiences which would further his future interests.

"I am more than willing to die." Alexander reminded him.

"Your wife needs you alive." Washington said. Alexander knew that Washington did not care about Eliza's interest in keeping Alexander alive. "Alex, I _need_ you alive."

"Do not call me that!" Alexander shouted, having lost patience with Washington's flimsy excuses for refusing him a command. "Do not presume to know me when it is you who is my greatest enemy!"

It was severe, calling Washington his greatest enemy. Yet, Alexander could not regret his words as Washington recoiled from them. Washington had refused him a number of command opportunities, purely out of his own selfish motives to keep Alexander near. Washington was the sole reason that Alexander would not have a place in history.

"Go home, Alexander." Washington's voice had grown quiet, but it was emphatically not soft. Washington's expression grew steely as he turned away from Alexander.

Finally, after many failed attempts and tentative apologies, Alexander had said something truly unforgivable to Washington. There would be no abashed reconciliation in the early hours of the morning, swaddled by the warmth of Washington's quarters.

"Sir -" Alexander tried uselessly.

Washington's tone had sobered him; it had released any rage which had previously existed. Now, he only felt regret.

"_Go home_." Washington snarled like a wounded animal.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty Nine

**John Laurens**

"What are you going to do?" John asked as he watched Hamilton pack his bags.

Washington had commanded Hamilton to leave as soon as he ensured that Burr had all of the necessary documents and information to train his replacement. John had balked when he heard the news. He had expected to receive a sharp reprimand from Washington over the duel. He had not expected Hamilton to be fired.

Hamilton made a heroic attempt at a smile.

"I will go home and begin our law practice." He said. "By the time the war is over, we will have plenty of clients. And I will have more time to write. Perhaps I will be able to get Congress to understand the necessity of a stronger central power. I may even spend time with my family. We could have children within a year or two of one another. My son could marry your daughter."

John smiled faintly, if for no other reason than to humor Hamilton.

"Would you check on my family on your journey home?" He asked. "I hold no doubt that Marty is doing very well in the company of my parents, but I would like little more than for you to meet Frances. I believe you would find her most agreeable."

Hamilton looked puzzled. "You want me to introduce myself to your daughter?"

"Well...yes." John wondered if such a request was improper. "Perhaps you might ensure that she is well. My wife might enjoy the company, as well. You might invite her and Frances to visit you and your wife in New York."

"You would like for me to live with both my wife _and_ your wife?" Hamilton echoed dubiously.

John shook his head, blushing with embarrassment.

"Never mind." He said hastily. "Never mind. It was a foolish idea."

"No, I…" Hamilton closed his bag, then turned to look at John. His smile was more subdued than usual, but it was affectionate. "I would like to meet you daughter. I do not know that your wife would find an invitation to visit my wife and I in New York agreeable, but I would like to meet your daughter."

"I will write a letter of introduction for you." John said, relief flooding over him.

He did not know why it seemed so important for Hamilton to meet Frances. He did not know if he sought Hamilton's approval of his daughter, or his daughter's approval of Hamilton.

Hamilton nodded, still smiling slightly.

"All of my effects are packed." He remarked after a moment. He gestured back to his small bag. "I should…"

John swallowed hard. He nodded, too. "Yeah."

"I am going to miss you, John." Hamilton looked down at his shoes. His eyes were redder than they had been a moment ago. John wondered if Hamilton was on the verge of shedding tears. "I will miss everything about camp, but I will miss you the most of all."

"I will miss you, too." John agreed, his throat clogged. He felt tears burning at his own eyes. It would not do, both of them emerging from Hamilton's quarter while weeping. It was important, at least for the sake of John's subordinates, that they not show such emotions. John had to appear strong.

"And I…" Hamilton shook his head. Tears sprang from his eyes. John watched as they raced down his cheeks. They rolled off Hamilton's sharp chin and splashed onto the floor beneath them. "John, you know that I…"

John had to look away, for fear that he would shed tears, too. He focused on a spot on the wall where the paint had chipped.

"I know, Alex." He said, his voice hoarse. He continued to stare at the wall. "And I love you, too."

Hamilton nodded. From the corner of his eye, John could see Hamilton's lips wobble as the tears got the better of him. He raised his hand to wipe away the tears as best he could.

"Shh." John worked to comfort Hamilton the way that he had comforted Frances. He stopped staring at the wall and took Hamilton in his arms. He felt Hamilton's rigid posture dissolve at his touch. The sobs he had been attempting to suppress, he now let loose against John's shoulder. He took large, jerky breaths in between sobs. John could do nothing but run his hands through Hamilton's hair and quietly assure him that all would be well again.

He did not know if Hamilton was crying about the loss of John's company, or if he was crying for the loss of his only way out of poverty. John would not ask him. He did not know which answer would have been preferable.

Hamilton remained in his arms for nearly ten minutes. When he finally lifted his head from John's shoulder, his face was red and puffy. There was snot running down from his nose. John did not recoil from Hamilton's appearance. Instead, he removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to Hamilton. Hamilton let out a small, blubbery chuckle, then set about making himself presentable.

It took another ten minutes for the redness in Hamilton's face to dissipate. During that time, neither Hamilton nor John spoke much. They would exchange small smiles. Hamilton apologized once or twice for the tear stains which would now forever grace John's uniform. John waved off those apologies with a smile. He did not mind Hamilton leaving a mark on him. Neither exchanged sentiments of love or their imminent separation, for fear that tears would emerge once more. To sit with Hamilton in silence was enough for John.

Hamilton slung his bag over his shoulders once he was fit to face down Washington and the rest of the camp. He and John exchanged grim looks. Hamilton then moved towards the door. John trailed at his heels.

They walked out of Hamilton's quarters. There were men gathered around his quarters, their hats in their hands. John had known that Hamilton was popular, but he had not anticipated such a turnout of men to watch Hamilton leave. Among them were Burr and Lafayette.

John turned to look at Hamilton. The man appeared to be at a loss for words. It might have been amusing to watch Hamilton flounder for words for the first time in his life, had the scenario not been so solemn. The men looked at Hamilton expectantly. They were waiting for him to say goodbye in a graceful and sentimental way which would make them feel better about his departure.

Men were selfish that way.

"T-thank you." Hamilton struggled to maintain an even tone as he looked at all of the men surrounding him. He did not look down, as he had with John. It would not have done for Hamilton to appear overcome at this moment. "Thank you all for your friendship and your camaraderie in the years we have fought side by side. It was a pleasure...an unparallelled _honor_ getting to know you all. I hope that you will continue to act with diligence and honor for General Washington, and for your country. Goodbye, my friends."

It was a good speech. It was made better by the fact that Hamilton had not written it beforehand. Among the small crowd, there were tears. Lafayette was unabashedly wiping tears from his eyes with his handkerchief. Burr was pretending to hear something behind him, turning his head every time tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

Hamilton did not linger. He walked through the crowd of men towards his horse. The men clapped his back and cheered for him as he passed by. Lafayette grabbed Hamilton once he was within reach. He pulled a poor, blushing Hamilton into a tight embrace, then planted a kiss on each of his cheeks.

"Adieu, mon amie! Adieu!" He cried out.

John could not help but smile at Lafayette's farewell. It was a sad smile.

Burr rescued Hamilton from the embrace after a moment. With his usual reservedness, he settled for merely shaking Hamilton's hand.

"It has been an honor working with you, Hammie." He said. "I will, erm, I will be sure to send Theodosia to you when she is ready to divorce that husband of hers."

Hamilton laughed. It was wonderful. It filled John with a happiness that he knew he would miss in Hamilton's absence. The colors of the world seemed brighter to John when Hamilton laughed.

"I will miss you, Burr." Hamilton said once his laughter subsided.

"Yes, well, I will not miss you, Hammie." Burr replied gruffly, very obviously joking in order to avoid a candid expression of emotion. "With all of your criticism and your awful morning hours…"

Hamilton chuckled, a tear escaping from his left eye. He swiped it away with the sleeve of his coat.

"Go to hell, Burr." He joked, his voice watery with his tears.

"I'll see you there, Hammie." Burr bit back. His own eyes were growing red.

Hamilton smiled at Burr one last time before climbing atop his horse. He looked at John one last time, then spurred his horse on. The men who had gathered to see Hamilton dispersed, until it was just John, Lafayette, and Burr left. They remained where they were until they could no longer see Hamilton's dashing figure disappearing in the direction of the sun.

When John turned to look at the other two men, he was startled to see that Burr was crying harder than any of them.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Traveling by oneself gives one a great deal of time to think. While Alexander typically enjoyed the process of thinking, he found that he did not like the things he was left to think about on his journey back to New York.

He could not fight back thoughts of concern regarding his chances of success. He had left George Washington's staff, and he had not left on good terms. Washington had not even come to see him off. Alexander had believed that Washington would afford him that courtesy, at the very least.

He likely would not see John until the end of the war. He tried very hard not to think about the look on John's face just before he had ridden away. It was a look heartbreaking enough to make Alexander want to stay.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he nearly rode through Philadelphia without stopping. He nearly forgot John's very strange, very endearing request. He glanced down at the address that John had scribbled down on the envelope which encased a letter of introduction. He navigated the roads of Philadelphia until he found himself in front of a large and resplendent mansion.

A stableboy - a slave, from the looks of it - took his horse. Another servant greeted Alexander, politely asking for a letter of introduction. He handed over the letter that John had written with a small smile.

"Very good, Colonel Hamilton." The servant said, bowing to Alexander.

"Please." Alexander shook his head. "Just call me Alexander."

He was no longer Colonel Hamilton. He was no longer a member of the militia.

The servant looked deeply uncomfortable with the prospect of calling Alexander by his first name. He bowed again.

"Allow me to escort you to the drawing room, sir." The servant politely sidestepped the issue by not addressing Alexander by any name. "Mr. Laurens will see you shortly."

"Mr. Laurens?" Alexander had expected Henry Laurens to be at work during his visit. He had not anticipated meeting John's father during this occasion.

The servant did not further explain. He led Alexander to the drawing room. It was a very nice drawing room. Alexander was invited to take a seat in one of the plush chairs against the walls. There were books littering every surface in the room. The servant left Alexander alone in this room. Alexander took advantage of the solitude. He rose from the plush chair and picked up the books, one by one. There were a wide variety of titles in the room. There were books that were so extraordinarily rare that Alexander had been shoo-ed out of bookstores for merely asking about them. They were laying out for any stranger to leaf through, boasting that they were just the tip of the iceberg for the Laurens family. The rarer books, undoubtedly, were just beyond the oak doors of Henry Laurens' office.

"Do you read, Colonel Hamilton?" An older, somewhat raspy voice asked as he began to leaf through the fifth or sixth book that he picked up.

Alexander spun around to see Henry Laurens standing before him. He did not look so regal as Alexander had imagined when reading his letters of hearing John speak of him.

Alexander hastened to bow low, as was appropriate for a man of Henry Laurens' stature.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet the man I have been corresponding with for so long." Henry Laurens remarked, gesturing for Alexander to return to his seated position in the plush chair. Henry occupied the other.

"It is an honor for me to meet you, sir." Alexander hastened to say. "I apologize if I have interrupted your schedule. Jo - erm - Colonel Laurens requested that I visit his family on my way home to New York. He wishes for me to ensure that his wife and daughter are well."

"That is very courteous of you, Colonel Hamilton." Henry approved. "I have sent one of my servants to fetch John's wife and daughter. They shall be with us presently."

"I am simply 'Mr. Hamilton' now, sir." Alexander said, rather abashedly. He had angered one great man already; he did not wish to anger a second.

"Mr. Hamilton, then." Henry agreed amicably. "You are a very gifted writer."

"Thank you." Alexander hoped that he was not blushing. He did not want Henry to think that he was vain, or took great pleasure in receiving such praise.

"Do you read often?" Henry asked.

"When I have the opportunity." Alexander replied, trying not to look pointedly at the books on the side table between them.

"And how is my son?" Henry moved on to the next subject.

"He is well." Alexander answered unhelpfully. He did not wish to volunteer too much information on John, for fear of arousing Henry's suspicions.

Henry nodded, obviously not appeased by this answer. "Does he seem to have control of his men? I have often worried about his leadership. I do not know that I devoted enough time to teaching him how to lead when he was young."

"His men respect him very much." Alexander assured Henry.

"Mr. Laurens." The same servant who had greeted Alexander at the door entered the room. He bowed low, beyond a typical showing of respect. "Mrs. Laurens sends her regrets - she is feeling unwell and unable to entertain at this time."

Henry turned to look at Alexander. Alexander hoped that he was not blushing. This time, the blush would not come from a feeling of pleasure. Instead, it would come from a feeling of embarrassment. He knew that John's wife did not like him - he could not fault her for her disdain, given all of the information that she knew - but he had not expected her to refuse to see him. It was a snub that people would likely gossip about throughout Philadelphia.

Alexander looked back at Henry. He did not know if Henry would ask him to leave. He did not know if Henry shared the disdain that John's wife felt for him, nor did he know how much Henry knew about his friendship with John. He felt as though John had set up a trap for him to fall into.

"I am sorry to hear that poor Martha is unwell. It must have come on very suddenly." Henry's smile was strained as he spoke to the servant. "If Frances is not unwell, like her mother, I would like it very much if you could bring her down to meet Mr. Hamilton."

The servant bowed again. "Yes, sir."

"Mr. Laurens, I do not mean to be an imposition. I am certain that Colonel Laurens would understand if I were to tell him that his wife was indisposed at the time of my visit." Alexander gave Henry the excuse he needed to ask Alexander to leave.

"You are not an imposition at all, Mr. Hamilton." Henry disagreed. "You are John's closest friend - it is proper for you to make your introduction to his wife and child. As a man who I have corresponded with at great length, you are further welcome into my home as my own friend."

"You are very hospitable, sir." Alexander ducked his head in a demure gesture.

"Ah, there she is!" Henry called as the servant carried a small child into the room. "Frances, will you say hello to Mr. Hamilton?"

The child made a sound which was not a word. Alexander appreciated the politeness, anyway. Henry rose to his feet, taking the child from the servant with an extraordinary amount of care.

"Mr. Hamilton, meet Frances Laurens - John's daughter." Henry brought the child closer to Alexander, allowing him a better look at her.

She favored her mother in many ways. Her brows were furrowed, giving her a rather severe expression that was amusing to see on such a young face. Her lips were thin and pursed. Her hair was dark and straight. Her eyebrows were slightly overgrown. Her cheeks were round and ruddy.

Her eyes, though, those were all John's. Even the way that she blinked resembled John. Alexander smiled, forgetting momentarily that he was being observed by Henry.

"She is beautiful, is she not?" Henry said politely.

Alexander jerked his head up, making eye contact with Henry once more. He smiled awkwardly.

"Yes." He replied. "She is very beautiful - a credit to your family. I will assure Colonel Laurens of her progress in your family's care. How old is she?"

"She is nearly four months old." Henry said. "Though the family physician insists that she resembles a six month old. She is very advanced for her age."

"Then she takes after her father." Alexander proffered, hoping to please Henry with such a compliment to his son.

"Hm." Henry smiled imperceptibly.

He did not agree with Alexander's compliment, nor did he seem very appreciative of it. Instead, he shifted Frances in his arms with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Would you care to stay for the evening, Mr. Hamilton?" He suggested after a moment. "The sun will go down in an hour or so, and it is a long and fraught road to New York. We have plenty of food and extra rooms."

Alexander did not wish to dwell under the same roof as John's wife, but he could not argue with Henry's logic. If he continued on, he would have to find a suitable inn on the road or risk being caught by bandits or British soldiers. He did not know which would be worse. He did know that it would not be polite to spurn Henry's offer. Beyond that, Alexander had much to gain from forging a friendship with Henry. Perhaps he could manage to get a position in the new government once the war was won through his connection with Henry.

"I would enjoy nothing more. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Laurens." Alexander said with his most charming grin.

* * *

Alexander was given his own room and fresh clothes - clothes which formerly belonged to John - to change into. He was then invited to supper. The scent of fresh meat and vegetables had been wafting through the house since Alexander had been brought to his room to freshen up. If there was anything positive in having been removed from his position in the militia, it was eating civilian food once more.

He was the last to arrive to the dining room. Henry rose to his feet as Alexander set foot in the room. Alexander waved off this courtesy and shook his head.

"Please, cause yourself no discomfort on my behalf, Mr. Laurens." Alexander implored him in his most charming and polite tone. "Thank you for inviting me to sup with you this evening. The food and company are more than I deserve and I am much obliged to you for providing both."

Henry smiled. He liked Alexander's courtesies, as most men of his generation did.

A servant pulled out a chair for Alexander. Alexander nodded towards the servant gratefully, then dropped into the seat. Once seated, he looked around at those who would be his dinner companions.

John's mother, Mrs. Eleanor Laurens, was there, of course. There were two young ladies whom Alexander did not know. Judging from their complexion and the color of their eyes, they were related to John; perhaps his sisters. There was a sour-looking man sitting beside one of the young women, likely her husband.

And then there was John's wife.

Sitting directly across the table from Alexander was John's wife. She looked startled by his presence - if not horrified. Alexander tried to avoid her eyes, lest she spit fire at him.

"Mr. Hamilton, allow me to introduce you to my family. This is my wife, Eleanor." Henry began, nodding to Eleanor, who was sitting to his right.

"Mrs. Laurens." Alexander nodded to Eleanor with a smile. "John has praised you countless times in my presence. Before my departure tomorrow morning, I should like to see your garden. I have heard that your ability to grow roses is unmatched."

Eleanor lit up at Alexander's words. Henry smiled, too. Alexander was doing well, so far.

"And these are my daughters, Martha and Mary. On Martha's side is her husband, Mr. Ramsay." Henry continued, gesturing to the two young women and the man sitting near him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Alexander turned his attention to John's sisters. "Though I have not heard as much about you both from Colonel Laurens, I am aware that both of you had exceptional debuts into society. Colonel Laurens took care to warn me not to visit his family in Philadelphia until both of his beautiful sisters were married."

Both of the young women giggled. Alexander had a talent for flattering young women. In his opinion, it was a much more useful talent than athleticism or a knack for learning languages.

"And last, but certainly not least, I believe you have met John's wife, Mrs. Martha Laurens? It seems that she is now well enough to attend dinner." Henry introduced John's wife, the woman called Marty (as masculine as such a nickname was).

"Of course," Alexander did not let his dislike of Marty ruin his behavior. "You and your husband attended my wedding. You were my only guests, as I recall."

Marty smiled as though her mouth was full of vinegar.

"Is that so?" One of John's sisters, Mary, asked. She looked over at Marty, her eyes wide and her mouth downturned. "But how can that be, Mr. Hamilton? You are so charming, I cannot imagine anyone who would not wish to attend your wedding!"

Alexander smiled at the praise. He artfully looked away from Marty. He was relieved for something to distract him. Marty seemed relieved, too. She had not acted as though she intended to respond to Alexander's statement, anyway.

"A majority of my friends are in the war." Alexander explained, not wishing to seem unpopular. "And the other majority are located such that it would have been a tremendous burden for them to travel. My feelings were not injured by the small crowd. It was pleasing enough to have Mr. and Mrs. Laurens among our loved ones."

"Who did you marry?" John's other sister, Martha, asked. "Do we know her?"

"Elizabeth Schuyler." Alexander replied.

He liked that he was able to say that he was married to a Schuyler. He liked the prestige that came with the family name. He liked the way that Henry leaned back in his seat and smiled approvingly in Alexander's direction.

"Elizabeth...which one is she?" Martha turned to look at Mary. Both young women deliberated. "Is she the one who is always stirring up gossip? You know the one - she was up here for a party not so long ago. Beautiful, always wearing those dresses…"

Alexander cleared his throat to stop Martha's rambling. When both of the sisters turned to look at Alexander for an answer.

"I believe you are thinking of my wife's elder sister, Angelica. Eliza is the middle sister. She is not so vivacious as Angelica, nor as mischievous as Peggy, but she is affable and kind." He explained.

"Oh! Of course! _Eliza_." Mary exclaimed, patting Martha's arm excitedly. "Oh, I met her when her father brought the whole family to town two years ago. She is a delight. She was the only girl at Mr. West's party who did not spend the whole evening gossiping. She is so nice."

Alexander smiled with pride. He enjoyed hearing his wife's praises just as much as he enjoyed hearing his own. He liked the confirmation that he had chosen right in proposing to Eliza.

"I certainly think so." Alexander contributed, still smiling.

"She is one of General Schuyler's daughters, is she not?" Henry asked from the head of the table.

Alexander was proud of the connections that came with his marriage.

"Yes, she is." He replied. "Her father did me a great honor in permitting me to ask for her hand. I could not have found a better friend or father-in-law had I spent the rest of my life trying."

"You are so charming, Mr. Hamilton." Mary remarked, shaking her head in wonder. She was smiling. It was the kind of smile which suggested that she was temporarily smitten with Alexander. Alexander liked that sort of smile the best.

"It is no wonder our dear brother is so attached to you." Martha contributed. "For even the shyest boy, as our dear John is, could not resist such charms!"

Alexander smiled faintly. He wished that Mary and Martha would speak more of John. He wanted to hear stories from John's youth. He wanted to hear stories that John had been too embarrassed to tell him. He wanted to know as much about John as his own family did.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor caused Alexander to flinch. He turned in the direction of the sound - right beside him - and saw the figure of Marty fleeing the room. She had not properly excused herself. Both Henry and Alexander hastened to leap to their feet as she stormed out of the room. Alexander looked around the table, embarrassed. He wondered if Marty had left the room to escape his presence.

"I apologize for her." Mary said as Henry and Alexander returned to their seats. "She is very sensitive to all mention of John. I will check on her after dinner."

Henry nodded, resuming his meal. This signified that everyone else should eat without any further thought for Marty.

"So tell me, Mr. Hamilton," Henry said as though nothing had happened. "What are your favorite books?"

* * *

Alexander liked the Laurens family. He could not understand John's resentment towards his family, barring the matter of his father's slaves. He wished that he had a family like the Laurens family.

The morning after his night with the Laurens family, Alexander prepared himself to set out for New York. Henry, Eleanor, Mary, and Martha came out to the stables to see Alexander off. Marty was notably absent. Everyone pretended not to notice. Alexander did the same.

Once Alexander had resumed his journey, he was again left with his thoughts. Instead of allowing himself to be tortured by such thoughts, he replayed his exchanges with the Laurens family. He thought about the book that Henry had given him, now rattling around in his saddle bag. He thought about the roses what Eleanor had given him to bring to Eliza. Those were placed carefully in Alexander's bag, protected at the roots by cloth. He thought about the way that Mary and Martha laughed at all of his jokes.

Before long, he arrived to the familiar sight of his street. He slid off of his horse and began to walk it down the street. His legs were sore from riding. Walking felt nice in comparison.

As he put his horse in the stable beside his house, Alexander began to worry about Eliza. He had not written to her in advance, warning her of his imminent homecoming. He had not prepared her for the news that he had been fired from his esteemed position. He wondered if her father would be angry with him.

He need not have worried.

"Alexander!" Eliza screamed so loud the moment that Alexander stepped through the door that Alexander wondered if the whole street had heard her. She dashed over to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Sweetheart." Alexander nuzzled the curve of Eliza's neck. She smelled like perfume and warmth. It was a luxury compared to the scent of the average man in Washington's camp.

"But what are you doing here?" Eliza finally pulled herself out of Alexander's arms. She looked him over, as though she could not believe that he was not merely a figment of his imagination.

Alexander would have answered her question, had he not been distracted.

"Eliza, what...how...how long have you…?"

Her stomach was larger than it had been when Alexander had last seen her, and not merely out of marital bliss. She was with child. She was far enough along that she was showing.

Eliza's hands moved to hold the curve of her stomach. She smiled, almost apologetically. Despite her bashfulness, she was happy. Alexander could tell from the sparkle in her eyes.

"About five months." She admitted. "I missed my course just after you returned to General Washington's camp."

"Eliza, you should have told me." Alexander could not help admonishing her. He regretted all of the letters he had sent her, warning her against spending too much money, or asking her to keep the house clean in his absence. Had he known that she was with child, he would have written gentler letters.

"I wrote to General Washington." Eliza tried to justify herself. "I wrote to him a month ago."

"No." Alexander murmured.

He could not understand why Eliza had written to Washington instead of himself. He could not understand why Washington had not told him about Eliza's letter. Washington had countless nights, countless opportunities to tell him.

"I begged him to send you home." Eliza added.

"You should have told me." Alexander told her forcefully. "You should not have written to -"

He had not told Eliza not to trust Washington to convey such messages, but he had not known that he had to. He assumed that something so important as the existence of his child would be a message that Eliza wrote to him and him alone.

"I am not sorry." Eliza surprised Alexander by defying his expectations of an apology. "I knew that you would fight until the war was won."

"The war is not done yet." Alexander reminded her pointedly. He did not tell her that he had not returned home on his own volition.

"But you deserve the chance to meet your son." Eliza continued firmly. "Please, do not be angry with me, husband. You are here now, safe with me. All is well."

Alexander nodded. He wished to condemn Eliza's decision further, but to do so would be senseless and cruel. Instead, he took Eliza by her hand and led her to a set of chairs at their small dining table. He did not drop her hand as they each took a seat in chairs beside one another.

"Do you soberly relish the pleasure of being a poor man's wife? I-I-I have not accepted any pay for my services. I have no funds beyond what I had saved before the war." He could not help but ask her. "If you wish for the elegant life you once had - the life that many of your acquaintances still have - tell me now, for if you wait even a moment longer, it will be too late."

"Alexander," Eliza removed her hand from Alexander's grasp. She brought that hand up to the side of his face, resting that soft, delicate hand against his cheek. He could feel the warmth of it against his skin. "I relish being _your_ wife. Money does not matter to me."

She looked at him with such open adoration that it made Alexander feel ashamed. He felt ashamed for things he had done before he had married Eliza. He felt ashamed for things he had done after he had married Eliza. He felt ashamed for things he would do in the future. He knew that he was undeserving of her.

"I do not know what tide of misfortune has returned you home to me before the close of the war." She continued, unfazed. "But I do not care. We are in no need of a legacy upon your name, nor are we in need of money. I need only you, husband. I hope that you are in similar need of me. I hope that...though I cannot compete with the glory of war...I hope that I am enough for you."

Alexander looked at her, incredulous. She took his silence as a bid for her to continue speaking.

"I love you." Eliza professed, moving closer to Alexander. Her hand still cupped the side of his face. "And if you will only let me inside of that beautiful head of yours, and that beautiful heart, I think that you will love me, too."

"I…" Alexander stopped. He had to think about the words that he would say next. He had not known that Eliza was capable of such sentiments. He had never been loved in such a way - so selflessly. Even John was selfish in his love for Hamilton. He removed Eliza's hand from the side of his face. He brought it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss against it. "You are the best of wives. You are the best of women."

Eliza smiled.

Alexander tried to convince himself that Eliza's smile made his heart ache the same way that John's smile did.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

**John Laurens**

_Dear son,_

_Your friend, one Mr. Hamilton (no longer Col. Hamilton for reasons presently unknown to me) stayed with us the previous night, to our tremendous pleasure. He stated that his reason for his visit was to ensure that your daughter, Frances, was well. While I profess some disturbance at your apparent lack of belief in the assurances of myself and your wife, I believe you will hear from him a resounding confirmation that she is well._

_Your mother and sister were taken with Mr. Hamilton's wit and charm. I will admit that I, too, was taken with the man, though for his intelligence more than his social graces. We each availed upon him during his stay. I discussed books and politics with him and found that his knowledge and opinions made him a most agreeable conversationalist. Your mother showed him the garden, at which point he displayed an enthusiasm and knowledge towards horticulture which pleased her to no end. She requested his address before he departed our company, as she intends to write him several letters on the subject of her garden, having mistaken his politeness for a genuine interest. As your mother and I grew weary from such excitement, your sisters entertained Mr. Hamilton for the remainder of the evening, passing him between themselves as though he were a favorite kitten rather than a man._

_It should be noted that your wife acted rather coolly towards Mr. Hamilton throughout the evening, going so far as to leave the table in the middle of supper without first excusing herself. A letter from you, reminding her of her social obligations in this household, would not go amiss. I believe she has quite forgotten herself among the freedoms and social blight that accompanying you to camp brought with it._

_In all, I believe I can say with great confidence that he is a man you should maintain a long-standing friendship with, regardless of the amount of effort or stamps such a friendship would take to sustain. This advice is contingent on the circumstances which led to his retirement from the militia at an unsuitably young age._

_I trust that you are doing all in your power to honor your family name._

_Respectfully,_

_Henry Laurens_

* * *

_My dear brother,_

_Your dear friend Mr. Hamilton joined us for one evening just a few nights ago and I must confess - I liked him much better than I thought that I would! In your letters, you made him sound dreadfully academic and serious! If I were Mr. Hamilton, I would sue you for slander, for he is not dreadfully academic or serious at all._

_I must tell you, I am very annoyed with you for not introducing me to Mr. Hamilton before my own marriage was arranged. He told me that he is married to Eliza Schuyler - a dull lady, if ever there was one! Surely she cannot appreciate all the fun that Mr. Hamilton is like to create._

_You must send me many pretty things to make me forget how angry I am at you for keeping Mr. Hamilton forever out of my reach._

_Your loving sister,_

_Mary_

* * *

_Darling John,_

_Since your friend, Mr. Hamilton, has visited us, the house has been in uproar! Father is calling our family the Hamiltonian Secret Society, as Mary is convinced that she is in love with Mr. Hamilton, and Mother has written the poor man six letters since he departed four days ago. To make matters worse, your strange wife excuses herself from the room whenever Mr. Hamilton's name is mentioned - and it has been mentioned quite a lot as of late._

_Pray tell, is this the true nature of the war? Are Britain and America engrossed in a fight over the colonies, or over who may claim Mr. Hamilton as their own? For Mary certainly believes he would be a suitable war prize._

_I hope I will soon be able to write you with happier news. I fear that I will soon be obligated to write to you to inform you that Mary has fled to New York in the hopes of a reunion with Mr. Hamilton._

_Your loving sister,_

_Martha_

* * *

_Husband,_

_I am writing you to afford you the opportunity to explain yourself. Yesterday, I had the unhappy experience of being ambushed by Colo. Hamilton in my own home, having been given no warning of his presence until the moment that it was announced. I was later told that it was you who had encouraged him to visit your family._

_Your father has chastized me for my rudeness, as I told Hercules that I was ill at the time of Hamilton's visit, having no suspicion that your father would do something so ridiculous as inviting the man to stay for the evening._

_Your family is now angry with me for my rudeness to Hamilton. I am angry with you for foisting him upon me, and for granting him access to our daughter._

_I expect your reply to contain an apology._

_Your dutiful wife,_

_Martha Laurens_

* * *

_Dearest Colonel Laurens,_

_I have returned to the solitude of my home once more._

_I have a great deal to tell you - much has happened within the past few days! - but I will start by telling you about my journey home._

_I do not believe I ever saw a sight so unhappy as your face as I prepared for my departure from camp. I longed to remain, if for no other reason than to see you smile. I miss your smile above all other things. Were I an artist - I would draw nothing but your smile. I would not leave my house, for why leave when I could stare at your smile all day long?_

_On my journey, I stopped by your family's home, as you requested of me. While I was dismayed to encounter a handful of your father's enslaved people, I found the house to be resplendent and well-kept._

_Your father received me first, which I found unusual. I was unaware that men of his stature were able to make themselves hospitable in the middle of the day. I suppose his availability to play host to me is indicative of the amount of letters getting through to Congress these days. During this reception, we briefly discussed books and your well-being. I hope you do not mind my disclosure of the fact that you are well to your father. I did not know the extent of the boundaries which exist between your father and you._

_While your father spoke with me, he sent an enslaved person to fetch your wife and daughter so that I might converse with them and ensure their well-being on your behalf. Your wife feigned illness to avoid me - it is not paranoia which led me to this conclusion, as she appeared for supper once she believed the house to be rid of me - but I was able to meet your daughter in her absence. I must confess, she does not favor you in appearance, but for the most remarkable eyes that could only belong to your kin. She is doing very well. Your father boasts that she is advanced for her age._

_After being introduced to your daughter, I was invited to pass the evening with your family. It was an invitation which I gladly accepted. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know your family, though I know they are a difficult issue for you. Your wife left supper before anyone had eaten very much. I fear my presence spoiled her appetite._

_The next morning, I departed for New York. I arrived safely within the day, which gave me much pleasure. There, I was reunited with my wife._

_This, I fear, will be shocking news to your system, as it was to mine. I pray you set down this letter if you are in a fragile state. I do not wish to cause you any additional harm._

_When I returned to my home in New York, I found my wife with child. There is no doubt that the child belongs to me - the timing aligns perfectly with our wedding. She believes the baby will be a boy, as does every other member of her family. I believe the baby will be a girl, as Eliza is one of three sisters. I suppose it does not matter greatly...if it is a girl, your Frances will soon have her dearest friend and confidant. If it is a boy, your Frances will soon have her husband._

_I have not forgotten our plans. I have resumed the practice of law, taking on a series of clients who do not boast crimes of murder or conspiracy, but pay well and promise to refer their friends to me if I win their case. The firm will be here for you when the war is over. I will be here for you when the war is over._

_It is my most ardent wish to hear from you soon. I despair the absence of your words._

_Adieu._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton_

John let out a sigh as he set down Hamilton's letter - the last of the pile of letters that he had received the day before he set out for South Carolina. He had departed Washington's camp shortly after Hamilton had, having no reason to remain.

Now, seated in the grim quarters of his camp in South Carolina, he was confronted with the task of replying to each of the letters.

Marty expected an apology for Hamilton's visit. John knew that he should draft his first reply to her letter, accommodating her request for an apology. It had been unkind to let Hamilton appear on the doorstep of his family home without first warning Marty. That said, he had not anticipated his father inviting Hamilton to remain in their home through the night.

John had not anticipated his parents liking Hamilton at _all_. He believed that his father would view Hamilton as superficial and flirtatious. Instead, Hamilton had struck his father as intelligent and obliging. Hamilton was both of those things, certainly, but John had not expected his father to notice.

Even more surprising, perhaps, was that John's mother liked Hamilton well enough to correspond with him. John would have to apologize to Hamilton for his mother's enthusiasm, but he could not deny his own pleasure that she liked him. Eleanor Laurens did not even like Marty.

John was not surprised by his sisters' reactions to Hamilton. There had been a reason that he had refused to permit them to correspond or meet until both of his sisters were married.

The response John dreaded writing the most was Hamilton's.

He did not know how to congratulate Hamilton on his wife's pregnancy. He did not know how to be happy that Hamilton was forming his own family, one which did not involve him.

He knew that he should be happy. Hamilton had congratulated him when he found out that Marty was pregnant. Hamilton had even gone to his home and met his daughter to make John happy. John could, at the very least, scrawl the words 'congratulations'.

He pulled a fresh piece of parchment and dipped his quill in his ink.

**Alexander Hamilton**

_Dear Mr. Hamilton,_

_Congratulations on the pregnancy of your wife! It must have been very happy news for you to come home to. I will write to Frances straight away, alerting her that she is destined to have either a best friend or a husband within the next nine months. I am certain that she will be delighted._

_My father has written me, telling me that you are the recipient of many letters from my mother. I apologize for the inconvenience that these letters create. Do not feel obligated to reply to each letter - she will not hold such inaction against you._

_I apologize for my wife's conduct during your visit. I cannot make excuses for her behavior. It was childish and impolite and she has been reproved._

_I further apologize for the 'unhappy' scene I created upon your departure. I did not relish the thought of a prolonged absence. I still do not. I wish for nothing so much as I wish to be with you. It is only the fear of losing your respect - but not the respect of my country - which prevents me from resigning from my own position and enjoying a retirement from public service in New York. I do not wish to disappoint you, of all people._

_Please do me the favor of a response. I live for nothing other than your letters._

_Be true._

_Yours,_

_John Laurens_

"How did you find Colonel Laurens' letter?" Eliza asked as she tidied the room which had become Alexander's office. She kept a respectful distance from where Alexander was reading John's words, while wiping dust and ink off of books before replacing them on the shelf.

"It is a good letter." Alexander responded, keeping his voice even. "He has apologized for his mother's frequent letters."

Eliza laughed. It was a light sound. Alexander could not help but smile. He turned around to look at her.

Eleanor's letters had become an inside joke between Alexander and Eliza. Most days, there would be a letter from Eleanor waiting on his desk when he returned home from work. Eliza would always announce these letters in a playful tone, wondering aloud if she ought to be jealous that Mrs. Laurens was sending him love letters.

"And what of his sister's letters?" Eliza teased, sidling closer to Alexander. She did not seem interested in looking over his shoulder at the letter. Instead, she ran a gentle hand through his hair and dropped a kiss to the side of his head. "If I did not know Mary better, I would suspect that she was in love with my husband."

Alexander chuckled. He shifted in his chair to wrap an arm around Eliza. He pulled her closer. He smiled up at her. He liked how happy she was. It seemed to him that Eliza was the only pregnant woman he had ever met who was determined to be happy every waking second of the day.

"Do you not enjoy having a husband who inspires such attentions?" He wondered, grinning.

"I would rather keep you all to myself." Eliza replied, ducking down to press a kiss against Alexander's lips.

"Then you would deprive the world of all of my charms." Alexander accused her playfully. "That would be very selfish of you, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Call me that again." Eliza hummed, leaning against him.

"Mrs. Hamilton." Alexander repeated, rising from his seat and pulling Eliza to him. He began to sway, as though his words were a song to be danced to. "Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton…"

* * *

After a few months, Alexander found that he did not enjoy his work as a lawyer as much as he had enjoyed working for Washington. He had hoped that he would enjoy the ability to manage himself, and the politeness of his clients compared to the soldiers at camp, but it all felt dull and meaningless to him. He had no inclination to uphold laws when he knew that they would be rewritten at the close of the war. He had no appetite for the work, as accomplishing a divorce felt unimportant when compared to liberating a nation.

He did not tell Eliza of his increasing boredom. He knew that she was trying very hard to make his retirement enjoyable. Every evening, he would return home from work to find a lavish meal on the table and Eliza wearing one of her best dresses. She would ask him about his day, about his opinions on the news being reported in the papers, and whether he liked the food she had prepared. She never complained. She smiled more often than she frowned.

Alexander did not like to admit it, but he even found Eliza's good nature to be boring. She never challenged him, she never disagreed with him, and she was never angry with him. Sometimes, he caught himself saying things in an effort to provoke her. It never worked.

Angelica Schuyler's frequent presence was Alexander's only reprieve from boredom in New York. She was unafraid of getting angry with him, and would often question his intelligence. Very rarely had anyone questioned Alexander's intelligence. She brought over books that she believed he would enjoy, she squabbled over the correctness of his opinions, and she forced him to go shopping with her at least once a week.

Today was one such day; Angelica had insisted that Alexander needed a new coat. It was to be one of emerald cloth. Angelica swore that it would compliment his eyes and his complexion.

"In such a coat, perhaps you could find the confidence to write to Henry Laurens and inquire about a position on the Continental Congress." Angelica suggested, waggling her eyebrows at Alexander from across the tailor's shop.

Alexander rolled his eyes and grinned.

"I am happy with the job that I have." He replied. "It makes enough money for me to support my wife - something that Congressional jobs cannot boast - and I am able to remain in New York with my family. It is a good, safe job."

"And I know how much you value a good, safe job." Angelica snarked, returning to Alexander's side. The tailor cast her a dark glance, warning her against coming any closer. Angelica obeyed this warning, lingering a few feet from Alexander.

"Eliza could stay at our father's house." Angelica persisted after a moment. "She could not be in safer hands than ours."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Ms. Schuyler?" Alexander joked, his tone rigid despite his playful words.

He did not like having these conversations with Angelica. He did not enjoy her reminders that he was just marking time while history was being made just a few states over. He did not like thinking about the opportunity that he had squandered by leaving Washington's good graces.

"Do not be ridiculous. You know that I adore your company." Angelica responded with no hesitation. "My willingness to let you go should be sufficient to convince you that you must not settle for getting a woman a divorce from a husband who beats her, or springing an unrepentant man from debtor's prison. This is not the life that you were meant to have, Mr. Hamilton."

"I am done taking your measurements, Mr. Hamilton." The tailor said. He removed the fabric from Alexander's shoulders and took a step back. "You may expect your coat to be finished within the month."

"Thank you." Alexander smiled at the tailor graciously before starting for the door.

Angelica followed at his heels. She would not be ignored.

They stepped out onto the street. Alexander nodded at a few men and women whom he recognized. Angelica grasped his arm tight, pulling him close so that he might further chastise him.

"Why will you not consider my words, Mr. Hamilton?" She demanded, her voice losing its flirtatious tone. She was getting annoyed with Alexander's dismissal of her suggestions. "You cannot mean to wallow here for the remainder of the war. You are wasting your talents, wasting your intelligence. If you stay here -"

"I know!" Alexander exclaimed, exasperated.

The shout drew the attention of many passersby on the street. Alexander afforded them apologetic smiles as they continued on down the street. Angelica did not seem to notice the attention that they attracted. She was watching Alexander, silently furious. She was waiting for him to justify himself.

"I know." Alexander said. This time, he was careful to keep his voice at a manageable decibel. "But there is nothing that I can do about it. General Washington excused me from his camp in a moment of anger. I fear that such anger will bar me from entry to any other job I attempt to find. I cannot risk my reputation upon finding out. I would rather Henry Laurens believe that I am a charming and humble man, rather than a Washington-made pariah."

"You mean to tell me that you will not pursue success out of fear?" Angelica demanded. "That is not you. You are not a man who lives in fear."

Alexander shook his head. "You could not understand."

Angelica pursed her lips.

"Perhaps you are right. I have not been as brave as I would have liked in some ways. The times when I allowed cowardice to get the better of me, I lost things which were very valuable to me. I have resolved to be brave in the future. You should be brave, too." She said.

"Let us change the subject." Alexander encouraged her.

He did not wish to talk about his fear of Washington's toxic anger any longer.

"Very well." Angelica agreed with a huff of air. She looked around at every other person out shopping. "Did you hear that Mrs. McCullough attended Mr. Powell's ball while her husband lay on his deathbed?"

"Did she really?" Alexander turned his head to look in Mrs. McCullough's direction.

She was wearing black. She was now a widow in mourning. Despite her clothes, she was smiling as she conversed with Mrs. Hackett.

"It is said that she already entertains the idea of remarrying." Angelica added, casting Alexander an amused smile. "I would not be surprised if she kept a meticulous record of every available man in New York for her search. You shall have to take very good care of my sister, for if anything happens to her, you might be courted by Mrs. McCullough."

"Nonsense. If anything were to happen to Eliza, I would marry you." Alexander teased.

Angelica shook her head, still smiling, then turned to face the direction they were walking. Alexander did not take this as a negative reaction. He doubted that he had offended Angelica with such talk. Their friendship was one of flirtatious jokes and overstepping boundaries.

"I do not know if you would care for me as a wife." Angelica said after a moment of silence. "Sometimes when we walk together, as we do now, I imagine that you and I are husband and wife. You never seem so pleased when you are walking with me, as you are when you walk with Eliza. I seem to make you angry more often than not."

Alexander chuckled. "You talk about matters more controversial than the weather and fashion. Naturally, I am more like to disagree with you than I am your sister."

"Eliza is too kind to anger you the way that I do." Angelica conceded.

"She is." Alexander agreed.

He did not dare tell Angelica that he was beginning to wish that he had chosen a wife who would anger him. At least anger would be different and interesting. The role of a complacent husband in a happy marriage did not suit him.

"She was also kind enough to invite me to sup with the both of you tonight." Angelica seemed to notice the sort of melancholy which fell upon Alexander whenever he was permitted a moment to dwell upon his complacency.

"I would have invited you if she had not. We enjoy your company." Alexander forced a smile to match the one on Angelica's face.

They were nearing the street on which Alexander lived. Alexander recognized everyone who he and Angelica passed on the street. He nodded when people greeted him. He tried to hide his contempt for the lifestyle that he had fallen into. It was a lifestyle for someone spectacularly and fantastically normal.

"Perhaps I should move into your home." Angelica joked.

"Ah, I do not know that Eliza would appreciate your company so much if you were to live with us." Alexander chuckled. It was not a genuine laughter. He was forcing good-humor, for fear of hurting Angelica's feelings.

"Then perhaps you should get a dog and name it Angelica." Angelica suggested, nudging Alexander playfully. "Then you might enjoy the company of Angelica without worrying that she will say something with which you disagree."

Alexander opened the door to the house, holding it open for Angelica. She stepped into the house first. Alexander followed behind her, closing the door behind him.

"Alexander? Is that you?" Eliza called from the dining room.

"Yes," Alexander called back, removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Angelica is with me."

"Oh, good!" Eliza called out. "Angelica, could you come in here and help me set the food on the table? Alexander, dear, you have a letter. I placed it on your desk."

"Is it from Eleanor Laurens?" Alexander could not resist asking.

This time, his smile was genuine.

"Um, no." Eliza replied. "I believe it comes from General Washington."

Alexander froze. He felt Angelica turn to look at him, her eyes boring into him with undisguised eagerness.

"You are going to have to set the table without my assistance, dear sister." Angelica called, pushing Alexander towards his office.

Despite Alexander's protests, Angelica pushed her way into his office behind him. The letter was sitting in the middle of Alexander's desk. The sight of it was made more ominous by the otherwise emptiness of Alexander's desk. Alexander recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

Washington had written the letter himself.

Alexander looked at Angelica. He wished that she would join Eliza in the dining room. He was afraid that the letter would contain allusions to inappropriate conduct that he would rather Angelica not know about.

Angelica looked back at him, defiant. She would not be removed from the room. Alexander let out a sigh of resignation and grabbed his letter opener. With no great amount of care, he opened the letter.

_My Dear Colonel Hamilton,_

_It is with great humility and great pleasure that I write to you informing you of a command position which has opened up on the eve of a great battle. I have written to Congress, informing them of my intention to give you the command. This request has been approved unanimously._

_It is my greatest wish that you would return to the militia and command a group of men on my behalf._

_Your Humble and Obedient Servant,_

_GW_

"Well," Angelica said, after reading the letter over Alexander's shoulder. "Obviously, you have to go."

Alexander did not say anything. He simply re-read the contents of the letter. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of ambition. A smile crossed his face.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

**John Laurens**

_My Dearest Colonel Laurens,_

_It is the happiest of days and the greatest cause of celebration - General Washington has given me a command! There is to be a battle before long - the details of which I must not disclose. In that battle, I have the honor of a command. I will command both Washington's men, and a small faction of Rouchambeau's men, due to my fluency in the French language._

_It is my most sincere wish that our paths will cross sometime during my command. If it is not my fate to see you until after the battle, then I will have many tales of valor to tell you. Perhaps I will have a few new scars to show you._

_I regret that time will not permit me to write you as long a letter as I wish. I am responsible for training my men, ensuring that they are uniformed respectably, and reporting to General Washington on their progress. I vow that I will write a much more detailed letter once the battle is over. I will tell you with respectable sufficiency just how much I adore you. I will devote entire pages to the way that you pout._

_Adieu._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton_

John smiled as he set down Hamilton's letter. He had known that Hamilton would get a command, eventually, but he did wish that he had been present to watch Hamilton's face light up when it happened. He wished that he could be at camp with Hamilton, discussing all of the mistakes he had made when he first received his own command, and asking questions about his leadership style. He wanted to listen to Hamilton talk about his command for hours, if for no other reason than to watch his eyes sparkle and two perfect dimples appear on either side of his perfect mouth.

Unfortunately, Washington had already written to John, reassuring him that he would be of better use in South Carolina. He would not be able to join Hamilton at Washington's camp. He would have to wait until after the imminent battle to see Hamilton again. He contented himself from day to day with Hamilton's letters, and with the law textbooks he had ordered for himself. Brushing up on the law gave a sense of realness to the plans that he and Hamilton had made for the end of the war.

"Colonel Laurens?" One of John's men poked his head into John's quarters. "You requested my presence?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Davenport." John rose from his desk. He tried to think of matters at hand; matters which should have governed his thoughts. If he allowed himself to dwell on Hamilton for too long each day, he would be the death of his men. "Come in, please. Have a seat. Do you know if Mr. Crawford and Mr. Martin are on their way?"

"Mr. Crawford, sir?" Davenport appeared confused, as though he had never heard of the man in question. John knew this was not the case, as Davenport had gone through training with Crawford only a few weeks prior. "Oh, you mean Billy?"

Crawford was a black soldier - a free man in his own right who had decided to fight for a country he believed stood for freedom. Washington had only just allowed black soldiers to enter the militia with the same benefits and positions as white men. Getting the white men to respect their colleagues regardless of the color of their skin was a bigger obstacle than John had hoped that it would be.

"Yes, Mr. Billy Crawford." John's eyes narrowed.

"We just call him Billy." Davenport said with a shrug. "He don't seem to mind."

"I will address all of my soldiers with an equal amount of respect." John replied coolly. "I recommend that you do the same, if you have any aspiration of advancement in this country."

Crawford and Martin entered the room, sparing Davenport the uncomfortable obligation of replying to John's comment. John rose to his feet, a gesture of respect which he afforded all of his men. He had learned to behave in such a manner from Washington.

"Gentlemen. Please, have a seat." John lowered himself into his chair as Crawford and Martin seated themselves on either side of Davenport. "Thank you for reporting to me so quickly. I have been informed by General Washington that it is possible that we will be moving to our next camp within the next few weeks. He has warned me that we may receive little notice, and may need to travel quickly. I have therefore taken it upon myself to select men whom I believe will be able to assist me in the process of transport without any indiscretions which might alert the British to our movements, or cause panic among the camp. I believe you three fit the requirements nicely."

The three men looked at one another, each scrutinizing the other. Davenport and Martin overlooked Crawford quickly. They did not believe that he would be a threat to their advancement. John wondered if it had been a mistake to force his men to work together so soon after welcoming men like Crawford into his troops. Washington had been unable to give protocol or advice into the matter. Given that Washington was a rather substantial slaveholder, John did not know whether he would have heeded such advice, anyway.

"Thank you, sir." Crawford was the first to think to thank John for the advancement.

John nodded. He did not wish to acknowledge Crawford's gratitude too eagerly, for fear that he would sound arrogant. He did not wish to ignore it altogether, for fear of appearing icy.

"What shall we do first, sir?" Martin inquired.

"Take inventory of the items which will need to be transported - tents, food, my official correspondence, the horses...anything which you believe will be necessary for our war efforts at our next camp." John replied.

He could not help but wonder at the position he found himself in, ordering men to perform the same tasks which he performed only a few months prior. He felt as though he was still more qualified to handle simple tasks such as taking inventory, rather than commanding a large group of men. He missed the lack of responsibility he enjoyed while in Washington's camp. He did not like a group of men reliant upon him to stay alive. He wished for nothing so much as he wished for the war to end, so he might enjoy such mindless irresponsibility again.

"Yes, sir." All three men chorused, oblivious to John's discomfort with the position of a commanding officer.

As John watched them emerge from his office, he imagined Hamilton as a commanding officer. He knew that Hamilton would have been much better with his soldiers than John was. With a sigh, he pulled a blank piece of parchment from his desk drawer.

_Dear Colonel Hamilton,_

_How are you? I, myself, am well._

John let out a sigh and ripped up the parchment. He tossed the pieces into his fireplace. He could not start a letter to Hamilton so pathetically. He ought to have congratulated Hamilton on achieving a command first. Hamilton would be expecting to hear praise from John. He seemed to expect to hear praise from everyone.

_Dear Colonel Hamilton,_

_Congratulations on receiving your command! I am certain that you are much better suited for the responsibility than I am._

John let out an audible groan. He ripped up this failed attempt at a letter, too. The scraps chased the previous letter into the flames.

"Come on." John murmured to himself.

He had never had trouble writing to Hamilton before. Nothing had changed between them - John still loved Hamilton. He still wanted to tell him everything. However, after conversing with Hamilton about domestic matters such as the creation of a garden at his home, and the law firm that they would one day work at together, it felt impossible to returning to conversations about shortages and warfare.

_Dear Colonel Hamilton,_

_I miss you. I wish this war was over. I do not want to fight. I want only to live the rest of my life by your side._

With one final noise of frustration, John ripped up the letter and sent it into the fire, following in the path of its ancestors.

He gave up on writing a letter to Hamilton. He would talk to Hamilton once the war was over.

**Alexander Hamilton**

Washington wanted to make a stand in the north - stage a battle in New York. The French, with General Rochambeau as their mouthpiece, argued that General Cornwallis had trapped himself along the Chesapeake Bay. Despite Washington's protests, the French owned a majority of the war funds and controlled the naval forces. They would trap Cornwallis where he was camped in Yorktown.

Lafayette was sent to the Chesapeake Bay with the French naval forces. He would corner Cornwallis once Washington had sprung his trap. Washington had given Alexander the distinct honor of being the first commander to lead men forward. They would be the ones to start the battle.

First, however, the groundwork needed to be laid.

Men worked around the clock to dig trenches around the perimeter of Cornwallis' camp. They worked at night, while the artillery shot guns, cannons, and a few fireworks in the direction of Cornwallis' camp. Shouts from the camp could be heard in the few pauses between the American onslaught. The shouts did nothing to curb the appetite of the American soldiers. If anything, it encouraged them. They dug the trenches with unreserved zeal. Alexander watched with pride as dirt flew out of the trenches and behind the lines.

"The trenches should be finished by daybreak." Lee told Washington as they observed the efforts.

Washington nodded his approval. "I hope their hard work is rewarded with a glorious battle."

Alexander observed the men for a moment. He focused on one man in particular - a man who appeared to be older than Washington. The man was struggling to keep up with the younger men. He was tired. He had been working for hours.

It seemed dishonorable for Alexander to be basking in his youth while watching the older man toil. Without a second thought, he slid off of his horse - which Washington had bought him as a gift following his promotion - and shed his jacket. He tied the horse's reins to a nearby branch and draped his jacket across the horse's saddle.

"Colonel Hamilton?" Washington inquired as Alexander left the invisible boundary between the officers and the men digging the trenches.

"I am wasting my youth watching others from atop a horse, General Washington." Alexander called over his shoulder. "I should like to earn my victory as much as any other man here!"

Washington chuckled. He looked around at the surrounding officers. They appeared equally amused by Alexander's boyish enthusiasm.

"Very well. Carry on, Colonel Hamilton." He approved.

Alexander tried to ignore the unmistakable affection laced within Washington's words.

Instead, he descended into the trench. There were shouts and calls of approval from the men surrounding Alexander. A few rough hands fell on his shoulder, giving him a small shake of approval. Alexander did not think of the dirt that would stain his new shirt. He tried to rise above such trivial matters, to better appeal to his men.

"Take a rest, sir." He said, approaching the old man whom he had been watching. "For tomorrow, we must fight another day. You have done excellent work on behalf of your country, and I thank you heartily for it."

"T-thank you, Colonel Hamilton." The old man stammered, his face flushed with excitement. He was missing most of his teeth. His face was ruddy from the exertion of digging. "Thank you, sir!"

Alexander nodded. He enjoyed being magnanimous.

"Why don't you return to your quarters?" He suggested. "Get a full night's sleep. I hope to see you report for work tomorrow feeling rested and able to defend your country."

"Yes, sir." The man agreed, scurrying out of the trench before Alexander could change his mind.

Alexander smiled to himself as he picked up the rudimentary shovel that the older man had flung down. He rolled up his sleeves, as the other man had done, and set to work shoveling.

* * *

"Unload the bullets from your guns." Alexander commanded his men quietly on the eve of the battle. "For not one stray gunshot must give us away."

There was a soft shuffling as each of the men under Alexander's command unloaded their guns.

"Now, we must crawl through the night into General Cornwallis' camp. When you hear my command - the code word will be 'Rochambeau' - you will commence the battle. Nod your heads to show me that my words have been heard and understood."

Alexander watched as each of his men bobbed their heads in agreement.

With his own self-assured nod, he led the crawl towards Cornwallis' camp. The night was silent, as it had been for the past few nights. There was nothing which would suggest that Cornwallis knew that the battle was upon him.

They crawled through the night. To Alexander's great pleasure, his men were perfectly silent as they moved. Not a single stray shot was heard. Not a single word was uttered. When it came time for him to give the awaited command, the British were perfectly unaware of the forces which were about to descend.

Alexander was the first to rush into the action. He jumped onto a parapet and launched himself upon the British. The soldiers scrambled for their guns and attempted to pierce Alexander with their bayonets - they caught his sleeve in the weapon and managed to tear away a piece of the fabric - but Alexander was faster than they were. He enjoyed the game - it felt more like dancing than killing.

After Alexander's troops came Lafayette's men. They pushed the back of Cornwallis' men while Alexander continued to fight the front. Occasionally, Alexander and Lafayette would cross paths. They would shout hearty encouragements to one another before proceeding with the task at hand.

By midday, a white flag was waved. General Cornwallis had surrendered.

Alexander commanded his men to stand back as Washington moved forward, crossing the battleground to meet with Cornwallis to negotiate the terms of surrender. Alexander was invited to join the other officers, lined up neatly to watch as Washington and Cornwallis spoke.

Washington smiled. That was when Alexander knew that the terms were good. Washington rarely smiled in the company of high-ranking men such as Cornwallis.

Once the negotiations were complete, Cornwallis led his men out of Yorktown. They marched in a neat line. The line must have spanned for miles and miles. Alexander had read that the estimated amount of soldiers under Cornwallis' command had been tens of thousands of men.

Washington oversaw the evacuation. Alexander and Lafayette sat atop their horses on either side of Washington. They were quiet for a spell, each of them enjoying the fruits of their labor. Alexander could see that Washington was pleased. It was a decisive victory - the sort of victory that could turn the tide of the war. Alexander hoped that news of Cornwallis' surrender would force George III's hand in releasing the colonies from his control.

"You were reckless today." Washington remarked after a few contented moments of silence. He looked over at Alexander. There was a playful glint to his eyes that let Alexander know that there was no malice in his words. "General Knox had to reassure me that I would not witness your untimely death this afternoon."

"I apologize if I frightened you, Your Excellency. I was hoping that my men would be encouraged by the sight of my own fighting. I believe if they had seen me cowering or hiding behind my subordinates, they would have been less likely to show courage, themselves." Alexander replied, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness." Washington said, looking ahead at the retreating British troops. "In my youth, I was known to walk that line very closely. Now that you are a commander, Hamilton, you must learn to remain on the 'brave' side of the line. You are a good commander. I would like for you to live to fight another battle."

Alexander grinned. He had finally received the praise from Washington that he had always known he deserved.

"Yes, sir." He said.

"You must come to France when ze war is over, _Monsieur_ Hamilton." Lafayette contributed from the other side of Washington. "You must help us win our freedom next."

"You may depend on it." Alexander chuckled.

He liked being the hero. He liked receiving praise from Washington, and Lafayette, and all of the men whom he had commanded. He found that being a commander suited him very well.

He only wished that John had been present to witness his triumph.

* * *

The British Empire surrendered the American colonies shortly after the Battle of Yorktown. The war was over.

When Alexander heard the news, he went out and celebrated with his men. He bought all of their drinks. He knew that, now that the war was over, he would make enough money to afford such expenditures. He would have his successful law firm, which would serve as a diving board for a career in politics. Alexander could already tell from the newspapers that Washington would be a prominent political figure. He could use Washington's influence to his advantage.

After the celebrating was done, Alexander penned a letter to John.

_My Dearest Colonel Laurens,_

_The war has ended! Now you may return to me in New York. Now there will be nothing standing in the way of our happiness. Now you will be mine and I will be yours, forever._

_Though we have the remainder of our life to talk of the war, I would relay the episode of Yorktown to you, which will forever be etched in my memory and my heart._

_I was not only given a command of men - I was given the premiere command. I led the men in to spring the trap upon General Cornwallis. I came so close to Cornwallis that at one point, I believe I could see the whites of his eyes. I could not tell you how many men I engaged in the act of battle with. It may have been dozens. I believe that you would have been proud to see me. I would like few things as much as I would like the knowledge that you are proud of me. After I had sprung the trap that General Washington and General Rochambeau laid for the British, General Lafayette brought his men along the Chesapeake to thwart any retreat efforts that might have been employed. You should have seen the ferocity of the fighting. I am certain that Romans in the colosseum would have been afraid._

_After midday had passed, the British surrendered. They waved a white flag, though it quickly grew smudged with the dirt and blood which seems ever present in battles. General Cornwallis was reluctant to negotiate with General Washington, wishing to inflict one last insult upon Washington's name before his own name was disgraced. As you might have expected, General Washington remained proud and unflappable in the face of such insult. He was ultimately invited to negotiate the terms of surrender._

_Our terms, if you must know, were exceptional. The British were to leave the area, but they were to leave their weapons and ammunition with us. There must have been tons of bullets and thousands of guns. The soldiers threw their guns upon the pile with all of their might, in the hopes that their gun would break rather than fall into the hands of American soldiers. In the midst of our celebrations that night, we tested a fair amount of them. They do not appear worse for the wear._

_As my previous line might have suggested, the celebrations following the battle were something which legends will be written about. I am certain that you have already guessed that General Lafayette was among those who celebrated the most vigorously. I must admit, I joined in the festivities. It was my first celebration as a commanding officer and I did not wish for my men to consider me too aloof. I would not be a second General Washington. I did think of you during the celebration. I did not overindulge myself, for fear that such conduct would be an embarrassment for you to hear about._

_I am glad to have reached war's end. I have had my moment of glory which might land me in history books. Now, I long for nothing so much as a simple life with you. I long for days spent at our law firm, where we might argue over a case or two. I long for evenings in which we will host one another at supper, then take a walk about our gardens._

_I long only for my future with you._

_I love you._

_Adieu._

_Yours,_

_A. Hamilton_


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two

**John Laurens**

The morning after the Battle of Yorktown, John received a messenger from Washington, requesting that he move his troops north. He believed the South had already been won for America. John had hoped that Washington's messenger would also carry a letter from Hamilton. Unfortunately, he did not. Sensing John's disappointment, he had stated that Washington had sent the dispatch the moment the battle was over; Hamilton would not have had time to pen a letter to pair with Washington's message.

John had rallied his men that morning. He had instructed them - managed by the three men he had appointed for the task - to pack up the camp and move towards New York. He tried to hide his own enthusiasm as he packed his limited range of possessions. He would be reunited with Hamilton again. He was looking forward to hearing all about Hamilton's heroism in the battle. He was certain that Hamilton had been very brave.

"We are prepared to move, Colonel Laurens." Crawford stepped into John's quarters, his expression apologetic. "At your convenience."

"Thank you." John slung his bag over his shoulder. It had not taken him very long to pack at all. "Tell the men to saddle their horses. Do you have a horse, Mr. Crawford?"

"No, sir." Crawford answered with a tinge of embarrassment.

John nodded to himself.

"Take Mr. Davenport's horse." He said decisively. "If Mr. Davenport objects, you may tell him that it is my express wish for you to ride beside me on the journey. I was impressed with your organization skills as you orchestrated this move. I am aware of Mr. Davenport and Mr. Martin's participation, but I am also aware that you did a majority of the work while they took a majority of the credit. I should like to discuss your organizational strategies with you. It is my sincere pleasure to learn from those who are better skilled than I in one matter or another."

"Really?" Crawford seemed uncertain. "Sir, I don't know that such conduct is…"

"Come, Mr. Crawford." John abandoned his quarters without looking back. He approached Davenport, who was tacking his horse. The man was handling the horse rather severely, not seeming to care that his horse was quite clearly malnourished.

"Mr. Davenport." John called as all of the men jumped to attention at the sight of him. "You will walk on our journey to New York. It would give me pleasure to permit Mr. Crawford to ride your horse in your stead."

Davenport's face reddened with anger - or it might have been embarrassment - as he processed the weight of John's words. There were murmurs amongst the men. John wondered belatedly if he had made a mistake in ordering something so controversial. It might turn his men against him. He was perfectly aware that a majority of his men had not supported his inclusion of black soldiers.

After a moment of tension, Davenport flung down the reins to his horse. The men murmured among themselves. A few cast John dark looks. Most of them just looked curious as John escorted Crawford towards the horse. Once Crawford was settled upon the horse - which he treated with a kindness that Davenport seemed to lack - John mounted his own horse.

"Thank you for agreeing to accompany me." John said to Crawford as the camp began to move to their next destination. "I am not unaware of the dangers which come with causing such a stir."

"It was an honor to be asked, sir." Crawford replied with an air of bravado. He sat up a little straighter as he spoke. "If Mr. Davenport is angry with me, I'll be able to handle him all right."

John could not help but smile.

"I believe you will be." He agreed. "Now, I'd like to ask you how it was that you managed to have the men so neatly kept that they were in a position to gather all of their possessions -"

A shot rang out before John could finish his question.

The sound startled him into closing his eyes. As his eyes snapped shut, he felt something warm spatter upon his face. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Davenport's horse. Blood was streaked down its coat. As the horse reared and screamed, John saw Crawford's lifeless body lying on the ground. He had been shot through the head.

"Take cover!" John heard his voice call. It was a hoarse sound. It was filled with fear.

As bullets whistled around them, John's men ran every which way in search of safety. John rode towards the largest group of them. They were seeking refuge in a ditch, just below the treeline from which the British were firing. As his horse moved through the field, now littered with the bodies of men he had conversed with mere hours ago, he nearly trampled the injured figure of Davenport.

"Sir." Davenport choked out, reaching out a mangled hand towards John. "Sir, don't leave me here."

John should have looked away. Washington had warned all of his officers to avoid such interactions in battle.

Instead, he leapt off of his horse. Using his horse as something of a shield to avoid getting shot while aiding Davenport, John knelt down to lift the older man to his feet. His feet were just as mangled as his hands were.

There was a shout, followed by an increase in volume. The gunshots drew nearer. John's ears were filled with the sound of boot-clad feet moving against the solid ground. The British were coming.

John threw Davenport upon his horse, as Washington had thrown him upon Nelson so many moons ago.

"Go." He urged Davenport.

Davenport did not need convincing. He urged the horse on as best he could as a man in his condition, moving towards the ditch that was John's intended destination. The absence of his horse forced John to view the British soldiers running towards his own forces. They were outnumbered by at least two dozen men.

John dropped to his knees and began to crawl his way through the field, pulling himself forward with his elbows. He did not have much time until the British were upon him, but if he moved fast enough, he could make it to the ditch. He just had to keep himself low enough to avoid the bullets flying around him.

His arms and shoulders ached with exertion as he neared the ditch. He could see his men reaching for their guns. They would be prepared to fight against the British when they drew closer. One of the men turned to look at John. A look of relief crossed his face when he recognized John. His men needed to be commanded.

"Colonel Laurens!" He exclaimed.

"Mr. Coldwell." John called back, lifting his posture as he neared the ditch. He would give his men the reassurance they required, as Washington did for his own men.

A sharp, burning sensation tore through John's shoulder. The force and magnitude of the sensation sent him tumbling to the ground. Distantly, he heard the shouts of his men. He had been shot, he realized dimly.

He turned his head to look in the direction of his injury. He had been shot just below the point where his shoulder met his neck. There was a great deal of blood. John had never seen so much of his own blood before, but he had seen other soldiers lose this much. They rarely survived. John knew that his own death could not be far off.

Just as he began to panic, he caught sight of a familiar stain on his jacket. Hamilton's tear stain; the one which he had apologized for so profusely on the afternoon that he had left the militia. He had cried against John's shoulder like a child suffering from his first heartbreak.

_Hamilton_.

Just the thought of him lifted John's panic.

_Do not shed any tears for me, Hamilton_. He thought as his vision grew blurred. He forced a smile upon his features, so that his men might tell Hamilton that he had not suffered in the end. _I will see you on the other side_.

**Alexander Hamilton**

"Alexander!" Eliza called through the house. Alexander heard the sound of her shoes clicking against the hardwood floor and pushed his chair away from his desk. He had been meaning to take a break from his work, at any rate. He wished to hurry to the post office, so that he might see if John had written him back, yet. He hoped to learn that John was on his way to New York. He had already ordered a sign from the printer's shop, branding his law firm "Hamilton & Laurens Law Practice."

"Yes, my dear?" He called out, inviting her into the office. She rarely entered without his express invitation.

She breezed in, a vision in blue. Alexander smiled at the sight of her. He was happier with her, now that John was on the horizon. Let John be the person who angered him and challenged him. Eliza could pacify and appease him to her heart's content so long as Alexander had John.

"You have a letter from Henry Laurens." She said, holding up the letter in question.

Alexander cocked his head to the side curiously. He had not heard from Henry Laurens since he had returned to New York. The last letter he had received from the man had complimented him for his conduct during the Battle of Yorktown. It was more than Alexander had yet received from John.

"I am surprised that it is not from Mrs. Laurens." Eliza said as she handed over the letter. She smiled. One of her dimples appeared on the right side of her cheek. "Henry's wife, I mean. I must admit, I am surprised that I have not had the opportunity to correspond with your friend John's wife. You said that they will move to New York soon, did you not?"

"I did." Alexander reached for his letter opener lazily. "I confess, I do not know that Mrs. John Laurens will be amenable to your friendship. She has professed a dislike for me which I have been unable to refute."

"How could anyone dislike you?" Eliza wondered, perching on Alexander's desk.

Alexander shrugged as he removed Henry's letter from the envelope.

"I will change her mind." Eliza declared, mostly to herself. "I will change her mind about you and about myself. Surely she could not dislike her husband's business partner. I, myself, am determined to like your Mr. Laurens. The way that you have described him to me makes him sound like the most agreeable man in the world."

Alexander unfolded the letter.

"If anyone could do it, my dear, it is you." He mumbled as he began to read Henry's words.

_My Dear Col. Hamilton,_

_It is with a tremendous amount of regret and grief that I write to inform you of my son, Col. John Laurens', death._

_John encountered British forces in the aftermath of the war. His men have assured me that he acted valiantly until his last breath. It may bring you comfort to know that his men told me that he did not suffer. He was smiling when he passed._

_I wish you and your family well, and pray you write to my wife, if you feel able. It will bring her some comfort to hear from John's closest friend._

_Respectfully,_

_Henry Laurens_

"Alexander?" Eliza asked as Alexander's smile evaporated from his face. "Alexander, sweetheart, what is it?"

Her words sounded distorted to his ears.

Alexander found himself the victim of an all-too-familiar sensation. His stomach sank to his feet. His heart threatened to burst from his chest. His head was spinning, unable to form a coherent thought. His throat closed up. He swallowed in an effort to open it back up, but it was hopeless.

The letter fell away from his hand. He could not bring himself to read it again. Though the letter had delivered an unbelievable message, Alexander knew it to be true. Perhaps he had suspected John's fate before he had even picked up Henry's letter. Perhaps he had been deluding himself by believing that John was not answering his letters because he was too busy.

"Alexander, you are worrying me!" Eliza exclaimed. She moved to pick up Henry's letter.

Alexander remained silent as Eliza read Henry's short letter. She read slower than he did. They sat in silence for a good minute or two. Alexander realized, about ten seconds in, that he wished to be alone. He had always dealt with such grief while he was alone.

"Oh, Alexander…" Eliza attempted to soothe him.

Alexander shook his head. He did not look Eliza in the eyes. Instead, he removed a piece of parchment from the side of his desk. He did not care what the parchment said, so long as it required thinking about anything other than John.

"I would be alone." He informed Eliza, his voice hoarse. "I have so much work to do."

* * *

Two days after Alexander had received the fated later from Henry Laurens, another letter arrived. It was from Martha Laurens - John's wife. Alexander expected such a letter to contain the details for John's funeral. He opened it in the confines of his office in the middle of the night, when he was certain that Eliza was asleep.

He had been forcing a smile each day for Eliza's sake. He did not feel like he could properly grieve around her, as she was so determined to ensure his happiness. She did not understand that Alexander wanted to sit with the feelings that John's death had uncovered. He did not want to stop hurting; he did not want to be happy. He feared that if he were to allow himself to be happy, he would soon forget John altogether. He wanted to bask in the pain until it killed him.

He turned his attention to the letter, his lips tugging down into a frown.

_Colonel Hamilton,_

_I write to you on the subject of my late husband, Colonel John Laurens' funeral._

_It is my most sincere wish and desire that you do not attend. John was my husband, though I did not see him as often as you did. Grieving his death is a privilege which I take responsibility for. You had his heart. Allow me to, at the very least, have this last moment with him._

_I will not give you the date or location of the funeral, for fear that you will disregard the request of a grieving widow. I write to you only in the event that you hear about the details from someone else._

_Sincerely,_

_Martha Laurens_

* * *

John's funeral was on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. John's family had written Alexander with the time and the location of the funeral, as John's wife seemed to know that they would. They had each expressed their desire for Alexander to attend. Alexander had replied to each of their letters, giving his regrets. He had written that he had too much work to do; that he could not spare even a single day for John's memory.

During the hours of the funeral, he locked himself away in his office. He could not bear to face anyone. He wished to do nothing but dwell in his misery.

Lafayette would attend the funeral. Henry Laurens had told Alexander that Washington was expected to attend, as well. Alexander's absence would be noted by both parties. People would suppose that John and Alexander had not been as close as they had appeared during the war. People would suppose that John had not meant anything to Alexander.

Alexander felt tears burn at his eyes as he watched the time on his pocket watch. By this time, John's casket would be lowered into the ground.

He was alone now, he realized, as tears rolled down his cheeks. For the first time in his life, he existed in a world that John Laurens did not occupy.

He cupped his mouth in his hand so that Eliza would not hear him sobbing.

_End_


End file.
